


Forged through flowing water

by Tedah



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Drug Use, Anal Fingering, Auror Harry Potter, Bearded Harry Potter, Black Hermione Granger, Curses, Dark Magic, Decolonization, Desi Harry Potter, Diplomat Hermione Granger, Dirty Talk, Discussion of Colonialism, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, H/D Erised 2020, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Healer Draco Malfoy, Hindu Holidays, Hinduism, India, Indian food, Love Bites, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Magical Theory (Harry Potter), Mention of Injured Children, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, POV Alternating, Pining, Post-Hogwarts, Promises, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Rimming, Sikhism, Tattoos, Vegetarians & Vegans, World Travel, Yoga, kissing under the influence, trapped in a cave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:40:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 40,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27514723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tedah/pseuds/Tedah
Summary: When Hermione sets up a diplomatic mission to begin repairing the damage British colonisation did to Indian magical communities Harry isn’t going to pass on the opportunity to visit and help his family’s home country. Maybe he should have asked a few more questions about the personnel she had recruited for it before signing on because Malfoy surely has an ulterior motive to be there.OrHarry goes back to India to rediscover some of his lost roots. He meets Malfoy there. Hijinks ensue!
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 167
Kudos: 305
Collections: H/D Erised 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hephaestiions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hephaestiions/gifts).



> Hephaestiions, I hope you enjoy this colourful journey into Harry’s cultural identity. I’m ecstatic that your wishlist pushed me into writing this love letter to Desi!Harry, and I hope the endless hours of research pay off into a good time for you as much as it did for my sensitivity reader.
> 
> J, my love, I’m so proud of what we made together, your support picking through my cultural inaccuracies as well as my missing commas was invaluable.

**PART ONE**

Hermione held onto her hat, as the hot wind threatened to carry it off. The white sand was on the edge of too bright under the summer sun, even behind the dark glasses she was wearing, as the jeep left the outskirts of El-Tarif behind to head towards the desert. The streets got narrower and rougher the further they went from the city.

"We'll be there in less than an hour, ma'am," the driver told her as they passed the Valley of Kings' crowded parking.

Hermione nodded and kept her eyes trained forward, trying to come up with the right words. She only had one chance to get him on board and she had no backup listed for this mission. The crunch of gravel under the tires got louder as they left the archaeological site behind, proceeding into a gorge. The smooth stone cliffs on either side of the narrow road gave her respite from the relentless heat of the sun.

Tracking him down hadn't been easy, from South America to the Middle East, and then up and down the African continent. From war zone to climate catastrophe, he never stayed somewhere for too long before moving on to the next emergency. She'd been lucky to pin him down in the Sahara Desert, in the middle of a small medical crisis. She'd packed a bag and got the first Portkey to Cairo as soon as she got news from the English consulate about Nundus being spotted hunting too far from their Unplottable territories. The news about it travelled north to England far slower than the creatures did, getting close enough to Abu Simbel to kill a few wizards. By the time the pack made it to the Toshka Lakes, international support had been asked for and Hermione was making her way south along the Nile with a very small security detail, hoping to intercept the medical team.

They emerged from the gorge and the gentle slopes of dunes met them. Hermione squinted against the glare of the sun in the perfectly clear sky above them. Skilfully hidden under privacy and Muggle-Repelling Charms, was an entire camp. One moment there were only sand and sky in front of her until they kissed at the horizon, and a moment later, they crossed the limit of the wards, and a small city of tents and temporary infrastructure appeared like a mirage in the heat haze rising from the ground.

"Who are you?" a man draped in light linen clothes asked as soon as they approached the outermost structures.

"English Ambassador Hermione Granger. We need to see the medical detail," she replied.

The man nodded and stepped aside, pointing them in the right direction.

She recognised the order and simplicity of a low resource operation as they slowly made their way through, past the Magizoologist pavilion and the kitchens, towards the medical tent.

She barely let the driver park before jumping off the jeep, she didn't much care whether her security detail could keep up as she headed towards the flaps of the tent. It was more of a formality, really. She had probably handled more Dark and cursed objects than any of those young Aurors fresh out of training. She was confident she could take them out with just a bit of effort. She missed having Ron on her team, but after having Rose and Hugo they agreed it was best to not work together anymore. Should Hermione actually be the target of an assassination attempt it wouldn't do to have the kids lose both their parents in one fell swoop.

The sand crunched under her boots as she took a few steps toward the tent but before she could reach it, a hand pushed the flap aside from inside and he stepped out, the disinfection charms still glimmering around him as he stretched, turning his face up to the sun. Despite everything, she still felt relief wash over her as she saw him physically there.

"Malfoy, it's good to see you," she greeted him.

He turned, with a frown of confusion as if he wasn't used to his own name. When his eyes settled on her she flinched at the sight of red irises. He froze at her reaction, then quickly waved his wand at his face, and in a blink, they were back to cool grey before disappearing behind dark lenses.

"Sorry, protection charms," he apologised. "Ambassador Granger, to what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from the most beloved of England's high officials?" he asked, casually rolling down the left sleeve of his shirt.

"Is there a place we can talk? You're not an easy man to track down."

Malfoy nodded and gestured for her to follow him through the camp. He moved with ease and confidence among the tents, the loose clothes moving with the desert wind.

"People don't usually have very friendly reasons to try and get a hold of me, not people from my home country at the very least," he mentioned, holding open the flap of a tent for her to walk in.

She felt the wash of cooling charms hit her as soon as she stepped inside. Simple metal tables were lined up in the magically expanded space of the tent and a kitchen was set up on the opposite side.

"Can we please get two limoons, Baahir?" Malfoy asked the man working the stoves.

"Right away, sayidi."

Hermione took off her glasses and hat and sat on a bench at a table far enough from the kitchen side to have a bit of privacy, leaving her two guardian angels to guard the door. Malfoy folded himself gracefully on the bench opposite her. Now that they were out of the harsh light of the sun and he took off his dark glasses, she noticed he was tanner than she remembered him, and there was a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

"So…" he prompted, crossing his arms on the table.

"I want you for a mission I'm planning."

"I'm not some kind of mercenary, Granger, you have the trained monkeys at St Mungo's for that." Malfoy didn't bother to hide his distaste as he pushed his hair back from where it stuck to his forehead with sweat. "And I assume you're aware there is no love lost between England and I these days."

Hermione thanked the man when he placed two tall glasses in front of them dripping with condensation.

"It's not about England, you won't have to put a foot in the UK if you don't want to, but I know of your training and I need your kind of expertise." She took a sip, letting the cool water refresh her and the zing of lemon chase away the sluggish feeling that accompanied a long journey.

"It's your pet project you want me on, then?" Malfoy studied her for a long moment and Hermione did her best to withstand the scrutiny. His eyes were sharper than she remembered but there was nothing she was trying to hide. In the end, he seemed to find what he saw satisfying, because he relaxed a little and took a sip from his glass and sighed, "I'll bite, you've got ten minutes before I have to go back in to finish the decontamination. What is it?"

"The British Ministry of Magic has never addressed the damage done to other magical communities during the colonial empire and some, most I would say, are still struggling to get back on their feet after gaining independence. I want to do something about that now that I have the resources, and I'm going to start with West Bengal. I'm going to help the development of schools, try to rebuild traditional magical practices the empire tried to eradicate, reach out to isolated magical communities and promote their inclusion in the education system," Hermione started to explain her plan of attack.

"That's very noble of you, Granger, but you know I'm an emergency Healer, not a guru."

"During the British reign over India the tracking of lower-caste magical children was disrupted and the installation of colonial education left a lot of untrained magical practitioners that end up harming themselves or others in bursts of accidental magic."

"I still fail to see what prompted you to get all the way here just to recruit me."

Hermione rested her hands on the table and leaned closer, "I've been tracking you through your tour of the commonwealth with Wizards Outside Nations, volunteering at any magical or magic-adjacent catastrophe where they would take you. I'm fairly confident you want to start cleaning up the bullshit colonial England left behind almost as much as I do. We've left those people to fend for themselves for too long, they deserve better than that from us. I think we need to be accountable for the damage and I know you agree." She raised an eyebrow daring him to disagree. "I can't say that much about the emergency Healers at St Mungo's."

"Fine, if you're that desperate. I'm on board. Send me a letter when you have your ducks in a row and ready to Portkey out. You know where I live." He stood and picked up his empty glass to return it to the sink to wash.

"I… Actually, I don't," Hermione told him sheepishly. Somehow it had been more important to find where he was rather than where he technically owned a house.

Malfoy gave her an amused look and pulled a scrap of paper from his breast pocket. 

“Make sure you get back at Blaise for this.”

He pressed the tip of his wand to it and in a few moments an address in the south of France was burned into it in Malfoy's loopy handwriting.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Ambassador," Malfoy mentioned before sliding his glasses back on his face and walking out, presumably to get back to work on cleansing clueless Muggles and reckless wizards from Nundu poison.

Hermione clutched the piece of parchment in her fist and stood up. She got him on board, now it was all a matter of pushing bureaucracy along and she'd made a career out of that. The drive back to El-Tarif seemed much shorter, she was too caught up in her machinations to notice the changing scenery as they got back in the city and to her hotel. She sent a message to Blaise back in London through the Direct Diplomatic Pouch to start drawing up the project plan. She was going to need security, and to make contact with local government, local Healers and activists.

She was going to have to talk to Harry.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry was stuffed. Every time he went to the Patils' for dinner he put a strain on the waistband of his trousers. But when Aunty Priya brought out the burfi, Harry couldn't very well say no to the fragrant coconut and the scent of citrus, his trousers be damned.

"You've been antsy all night, Harry, what's got you all worked up?" Padma asked, putting away the leftover bhindi masala.

"There's a new assignment Hermione asked me to take on," he mentioned, slowly stirring his tea and eyeing the towering stack of perfectly square burfi. How Priya always got the edges perfect was beyond him, and she refused to divulge her secret. Harry's always came out sad and wonky.

"Something dangerous?" Parvati guessed.

"No, at least, I don't think so. She's launching this ambitious project to start amending colonial damage. She’s going to West Bengal and she wants me on the security detail."

"Oh, that's smart of her, taking the one desi Auror along." Padma commented biting into a piece of burfi.

"Actually, there's another one on the force," Harry chuckled.

"I'm guessing their name isn't Harry Potter and they aren't the literal most recognisable face in the entire UK," Parvati shot back with a knowing smile.

"No, they're not, it's a woman right out of training."

"You will love living in Kolkata, Hari, I still miss it," Aunty Priya said, nostalgia tinging her eyes.

"I know, it's just… I'm not sure if I'm up for it," he admitted. "It's obvious they want me just because I'm desi, but I'm really not, you know? I grew up in a white household, completely removed from everything, and I'm only starting to figure things out now at twenty-seven. I only went once with you last winter. What if they expect me to have everything together?"

Padma smiled and shook her head. "Hermione knows exactly who you are, and I'm sure you'd be on top of her list even if you _were_ white as a scot, and they're not going to expect you to be their cultural mediator. If I know Hermione, she will already have a list of local contacts waiting for your arrival."

Parvati nodded, stealing a piece of burfi from her sister. "And it can be a great occasion for you to reconnect with the culture more than you can do by staying here and chasing cursed objects smugglers in back alleys. You're going there to build schools and kiss babies, what kind of dangers could there be?"

Harry laughed. "Don't jinx it," he told her, reaching for another piece of burfi.

"When would you have to leave?" Parvati asked.

"At the beginning of April. We'd stay there for three months, halfway into the monsoon season, but Hermione said she couldn't fit it any other way so we take what we can get."

Aunty Priya nodded. "You're still here to celebrate Holi with us, then."

Harry smiled. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

* * *

Harry did end up studying up on West Bengal, not only to soothe his anxiety after he'd given Hermione his availability, but because, like Parvati said, he wanted it to be his chance to touch and experience Indian culture and find his roots, things his father would have probably taught him if he'd had the chance.

Hermione was just happy to see him frequent the library without being externally compelled, and Ron was all too eager for him to entertain the kids with tales of tigers and rain and colours and songs.

When the grey London winter turned into a tentative grey London spring, Harry was ready for it to be April already, but there were briefings to be had and arrangements to be made, specific training to be done and a million other things Harry wished could be over already.

When they finally, _finally_ landed in the foyer of the British embassy in Calcutta Harry was ready to take on the world. The warm fragrant air energised him, but it only took the time necessary for his balance to settle after such a long Portkey jump before the universe hit him in the face with a cricket bat. Malfoy was there, sitting on a low couch, dressed in flowy robes and clearly waiting for them. And that traitor Hermione was greeting him like an old friend. He knew he should have been more suspicious of her evasive answers about the international expert coming in to lead the medical team. He bit his tongue until Yuvarani, the young woman who would accompany them and coordinate with the locals, had shown them to their hotel and helped them settle in their rooms. Then, he marched right up to Hermione's and banged on the door until she opened.

"HIM?!"

She sighed and stepped aside to let him in. "I knew you'd react this way, that's why I didn't tell you."

"Why did you bring him on, then? He's a Malfoy, his family were probably here starving people and stealing art in the 1770s."

"Maybe they were, maybe not, what matters is that I needed an experienced emergency Healer and he was highly motivated," Hermione replied diplomatically, closing the door behind him.

"He's a Death Eater! And you have emergency Healers at St Mungo's who would be all too happy to drop whatever and follow you halfway around the world," Harry retorted.

"He _was_ a Death Eater," Hermione corrected him, "And he paid for that. What he _is,_ and has been for the past seven years, is a volunteer emergency Healer with more field experience than half the emergency and trauma team in St Mungo's put together."

"He paid for it?!" He couldn't believe Hermione would have the gall to put it that way.

"He's been judged by the Wizengamot and he fulfilled every part of his sentencing."

"I was forced to testify under Veritaserum, Hermione, and they twisted my every word," he argued, throwing his arms up at how uncompromisingly stubborn she was being about the issue.

"We all testified under Veritaserum, and the scrutiny on our testimony was rightly scrupulous. It was a fair and unbiased proceeding, as much as you would have liked it to be otherwise. It was what we needed to close that chapter of wizarding history," she insisted, as if that _chapter_ of history could be considered closed.

"I'm not going to work with him." Harry crossed his arms and stared down Hermione.

"I went all the way to Egypt to get him, Harry, and as much as I _want_ you here, for my ease of mind and I think yours too, I _need_ him," Hermione told him. "Don't push me to pick, Harry, you won't like the answer."

"You would seriously keep him and send me back?" Harry's voice was dripping with outrage.

"You're my best friend, Harry, and a great Auror, but he's an incredible Healer and this is so much bigger than any of us. As much as it pains me to say this, yes."

Hermione had the decency to at least look like she was torn about the situation, but that didn't do much to ease Harry's fuming anger.

"You don't have to be around him, I can arrange things so you can be out of each other's hair most of the time and you can pretend he's not there," she offered.

"That's not the point, Hermione." Harry gave up on his idea of storming out and taking a walk around the city until he was a bit calmer. He walked deeper inside Hermione's suite and sat down on the rattan couch, sinking in the soft cushion. "You took a Malfoy on a decolonisation diplomatic mission. How is this not absurd to you?"

Hermione sighed and sat down in the chair in front of him. "You're not looking at the bigger picture, Harry; his past and the connotations his name brings is one of the reasons I want him here. He was the worst Britain had to offer and he's trying to be the best now. I have to believe he can, because if he can then we all can."

Harry regarded her sceptically, but her dark eyes were earnest and he had to concede the point. "I don't like it," he informed her.

"Duly noted." She smiled at him, fully aware that she wasn't going to get much more goodwill from him.

"Are you going to need me around this afternoon?" he asked, getting up.

"No, I'm just going to unpack and try to get used to the timezone," she replied.

"Alright, I'll see you at dinner then."

* * *

Draco was glad to step into the perfectly weather-controlled environment of the hotel. With no disrespect to the embassy's effort to make its rooms liveable, there were too many open windows and stone arches for any Weather-Control Charm to have any significant effect. Draco wasn't made for the humidity; he could already feel his shirt sticking to his back with sweat. Not even months in the rainforest made him get used to it, he much preferred the desert.

He glanced out the big window. They were high up enough that he could see the busy streets of Calcutta sprawling out in front of him like an intricate tapestry drawing an image he couldn't quite decipher. He'd seen the way Potter had looked at him and he was starting to wonder whether he'd made a mistake saying yes to Granger. He was still in time to get a Portkey back to Cairo and then another quick jump and he'd be in Cape Town; he could catch up with Trevor in three days maximum.

And yet, when a knock on the door came, Draco was still rooted to the spot, because despite Potter's unrestrained disdain Draco was a fool on a mission, exactly like Granger.

"Come in," he called, turning away from the window.

A young woman poked her head in and smiled at him. She couldn't have been older than twenty, a colourful hijab in vibrant shades of green was neatly wrapped around her head. "I hope I'm not bothering you, Draco ji, I wanted to introduce myself. My name is Tvarika Rana, I'll be your interpreter for your stay," she introduced herself.

Draco nodded and gestured for her to take a seat. "It's a pleasure to meet you, and I have to thank you in advance for your invaluable work. I'm afraid I will be wholly dependent on you." He smiled a bit self-consciously as he took a seat in front of her at the small table beneath the window. He usually tried to learn at least a little bit of the language before leaving for a mission, so as to not be entirely helpless, but there just hadn't been enough time for it.

"There is no reason to worry, Draco ji, it's my job to make you and the medical team as comfortable as possible. I'm happy to work on Ambassador Granger's mission," she reassured him, and the glint in her dark eyes showed genuine enthusiasm.

"Just Draco is fine, Miss Rana," he mentioned. "Have you met the rest of the medical team?" He rested his chin on his left hand, hoping she would have gleaned some better insight than the sterile curricula Granger had passed onto him before departure.

"Are you asking for gossip, Draco ji?"

Draco couldn't help the smile that came to his lips at the cheerful accusatory tone she took. "I wouldn't dare, Miss Rana," he replied.

"They seem very enthusiastic young Healers," she replied, "I would never speak ill of my peers."

So, they were barely more than trainees, he already knew that, and it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It meant that they weren't already set in their ways, willing to bend and think outside the box.

"I wouldn't expect you to. What about Healer Gupta? I hear she's an expert in her field." Draco had been relieved to hear he would have an expert in Ayurveda at his side while leading the local team of Healers. He was many things, an exceptional emergency surgeon for sure, but knowledgeable in Ayurvedic healing wasn't one of those things.

Tvarika nodded. "She is, and she's been trying to reach the isolated magical communities for some time, but the bursts of wild magic are unpredictable and always pose a high risk for anyone trying to approach the land. That's why the government made it Unplottable."

"A winning decision, I'm sure. Looks like the British influence is still strong, judging by the unfortunate governmental choices," he muttered, glancing out the window to allow himself a moment of bitterness about the management of his country while he was growing up. He sighed and turned back to look at his companion.

"Thank you, Miss Rana, for indulging me, I won't keep you any longer. I'm sure we'll spend more than enough time together in the next weeks for you to grow weary of my company. Will you be joining us for dinner?"

"Of course, you will meet everyone else then. See you later, Draco ji."

Draco took his time unpacking, the more he spread out in his room the less he would be tempted to skip out on Granger. As if sensing his thoughts, Granger came knocking on his door fifteen minutes before dinner time. His sense of time was still off from the change in timezone but he knew that nothing could shake that off better than getting to work bright and early in the morning.

"How are you settling in?" Granger asked, letting herself in and looking around the room.

"I am," he replied noncommittally.

"I suppose I should take you not running for the hills as a win." Granger sat down at the table and fixed the skirt around her legs.

Draco leaned against the column of the bed canopy and crossed his arms.

"So, you're aware of how risky a decision you've made," Draco commented.

Granger nodded. "You have to risk big to win big," she told him with a shrug.

"One usually doesn't stack the odds against oneself," Draco countered. "How bad did Potter take it? He looked ready to Apparate directly back to London when he saw me."

"Yeah, about as well as expected." Granger smiled sheepishly.

"Which is explosively, horribly bad I imagine," Draco sighed, pushing off and walking closer to the window.

Granger hummed. "I think he will try to be civil at least for a while and I would like you to do the same. I'll keep him out of your hair as much as possible but you know how he is…"

Draco nodded, "I'm not that boy anymore, Granger, and I think you know it or you wouldn't have put all that effort into tracking me down."

"So Blaise says, I still reserve judgement." She gave him a teasing smile but Draco suspected she was much more serious than she let on.

"I met my translator," he mentioned to change the subject.

"Tvarika?"

Draco nodded, "She seems nice, mentioned there being a Healer expert in Ayurvedic medicine collaborating with us?"

"Siddhima Gupta, she'll be joining us for dinner," Granger confirmed. "Trust me, you'll like her. Speaking of, are you ready to head down to the restaurant?"

"Give me a minute to change." He shrugged off his robes and picked a light white linen shirt and sand-coloured trousers. Formal enough but non-threatening.

Draco held back when they were joined by the rest of the delegation in the elevator. There was another Healer that came along from St Mungo's, an old Charms teacher, specialised in "exotic" magical practices, and one other Auror forming the bare necessary security detail for any journey abroad with an ambassador of England. All of them were quite happy to let Draco pretend they didn't exist and return the favour. Not Granger, though. She was dead set on making him bond with everyone as soon as possible, which was probably a good idea for the successful completion of the mission, but Draco was still lagging after the Portkey jump and entrenched in a defensive position, which wasn't the best for making friends.

* * *

Harry left Hermione's suite and knew immediately that if he went back to his own room, he would just stew and then bite someone's head off at dinner, which would satisfy him for a moment but compromise the rest of the mission. He sighed and softly thumped his head against the door to his room before pushing back and heading down the corridor towards the elevators.

They were set up in an absurdly luxurious hotel smack in the middle of the business district. Hermione scored the diplomatic suite but if his room was anything to go by, they were all in luxury rooms. Somehow it didn't feel right. Neither did the marble under his feet as he walked through the foyer to get out of the perfectly weather-controlled air of the hotel and into the sticky warm air of the afternoon in the city. The sounds and smells of the city assaulted him all at once and pushed every other thought aside for a moment. It felt like being in Delhi for the first time: the giddiness of being back in his family's home country; the thrum of a different kind of magic in the air; the colours everywhere, vibrant under the warm light of the sun starting to lower towards the horizon. He picked a direction and walked, wide-eyed and hungry to get his fill of images, of women in colourful sarees, of men in kurtas, of rough streets under his feet, of white buildings shining under the yellow sun. He filled his lungs with the smell of spices and flowers the deeper he went into the city. Even the smog seemed sweeter somehow, and the sound of car horns less discordant.

With every step and every breath his simmering anger subsided, mellowed by something sweeter, like the knowledge he was in a place where his family had prospered and in some small way, he was there to protect it and give back what he'd received. When he found himself in front of a gurdwara he stopped, suddenly wondering how far he'd got from the hotel. More than that, the sounds and smells coming from the temple kitchen made him question exactly how long he'd been out. His body was still set on the London timezone, so it could have been fifteen minutes just as easily as an hour. As much as he wanted to walk inside, cover his head and sit down for langar in the middle of a crowd of faces, brown as his own, where he could disappear for a moment, he was technically working, so he turned around and retraced his steps until he found the hotel.

As soon as he stepped through the almost physical border of the Weather-Control Charms and took a couple steps in the foyer, he was spotted by Yuvarani who waved him over.

"Potter sāhab, let me introduce you to Healer Gupta."

Harry put on his best smile while he was introduced to said woman. She was tall with the kind of strong frame that made Harry think of a devoted practitioner of physical disciplines. Her dark hair was pulled back into a stern and neat plait hanging down her back, but her smile was kind and genuine when she greeted him. Harry brought his hands to his chest and bowed his head.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sāhiba."

Struggling through the bit of Hindi Harry had picked up from the Patils and Healer Gupta's considerably better English, aided by Yuvarani's intervention when needed, Harry learned more details about the situation they were facing with the splintering of the magical community.

While under England's control, the magically inclined children of "good" families had been sent to Hogwarts to be trained in the British style of wizardry and witchcraft, with English schools eventually being created in Calcutta, Mumbai and Bangalore. The less desirable families were left to their own devices and gurukuls took care of the education of those children, at least until the fear of revolt pushed the colonial government to become hostile towards the practice, undermining it at every turn, in line with the divide et impera philosophy of the time. Communities were pitted against each other, the traditional "un-British" ways of practising were discredited, books were made to mysteriously disappear when not openly destroyed in order to dispose of everything that could pose a threat to the goal of perfect assimilation.

Harry felt the same cold rage and boiling revulsion he'd discovered upon finding the horrid Muggle trials setup at the Ministry, ten years prior. Some things never did change apparently, and as horrified as everyone acted with Voldemort's rise and fall and second coming, it was just more of the same. Healer Gupta spoke of it calmly and with detachment, almost used to the horrors of the irreparable loss of generations-worth of knowledge and practices.

"Some communities, after being isolated, ended up destroying themselves in increasingly brutal incidents of accidental magic," Yuvarani explained.

Healer Gupta nodded. "From 1858 when the crown took control after the East India Company, they made the communities"—she glanced at Yuvarani, trying to find the right word—"invisible?"

"Unplottable," Yuvarani provided, "and locked them under heavy Muggle-Repelling Charms as well as strict confinement spells. After that they let the cities grow as they pleased, which is how we ended up with these insular communities so close to Muggle cities. Some are even inside city limits but cut off from the world."

Before Harry could probe deeper and ask about the sustainability of such an arrangement, Hermione and Malfoy stepped out of the elevator with the other three members of the British delegation. Hermione had changed into a light anarkali suit in shades of cream and gold that complimented her dark skin wonderfully. She'd tied her hair back in a bun and looked like she was ready to tackle anything. His fellow Auror, Sabrina Foster, and Professor Chambers were in semi-formal sets of robes that couldn't have been comfortable if not for the Weather-Control Charm running in every room of the hotel. Griffith seemed to be trying his best to look as unassuming as possible.

"Ambassador Granger." Healer Gupta greeted Hermione with a bright smile that Hermione mirrored, bringing her hands to her chest.

"Siddhima ji, it's wonderful to see you again. Can I introduce you to our head of medical personnel Draco Malfoy?"

Malfoy greeted her with a bow of his head. "Healer Gupta, it's a pleasure to meet you, I look forward to working with you."

Harry's eyes fell to his left arm when he moved to bring it to his chest. His shirt looked feather-light, white against skin that used to be milk white. Just like his face, the forearms, bared where the sleeved had been rolled up to his elbows, were tanned, and a careful look could spot freckles in the most unexpected places. Still, it didn't take much attention to see the curves of the Dark Mark wrapping around his left forearm, shamelessly on display.

He looked away and took an unusual interest in the potted plants on either side of the door to the restaurant until they finished their small talk. He could bite his tongue for a while, at least in public.

* * *

Meeting Healer Gupta did wonders to smooth animosity, she emanated an aura of quiet power that Draco could appreciate. She spoke calmly, picking her words carefully, aided by the young woman sitting to her right. Her intervention was needed less and less as the conversation turned more technical. The deeper Draco's questions probed into her style of healing practises the easier Healer Gupta’s words flowed in a warm accented English that made the conversation that much more pleasant.

Draco wished he'd paid more attention to what he was eating; the different smells of spices mixed in his nose as more and more plates and bowls were brought to the table, but he was too engrossed in the discussion of balancing a wix's magical core with their life force and their environment. He was used to North African cuisine, mostly accustomed to the heat level, but he wasn't prepared for the way bitter and sweet mixed and played off each other along with the floral notes of cardamom and saffron.

The Privacy Charms around their table allowed the conversation to flow easily, undisturbed by the other patrons of the restaurant and, as captivated as Draco was by Healer Gupta's recount of the end of her field training, channelling the change of the season and oncoming monsoon to cleanse an entire family's curse damage, Granger's self-satisfied smile didn't escape his notice.

Potter's eyes falling to his exposed forearm didn't go unnoticed either. As much as he avoided meeting Draco's eyes, or in any way acknowledging his presence, his eyes kept drifting away from whoever he was talking with and towards the dark lines of the snake coils whenever Draco reached for his glass. Before dessert was served Draco discreetly rolled down his sleeves and buttoned the cuffs at his wrist. That finally prompted Potter to look at his face and it was Draco's turn to avoid his gaze, entertaining Healer Gupta and Yuvarani with tales of a very wet summer in the Amazonian forest.

As they enjoyed something sweet to close the meal Draco was convinced to tell the tale of his own start as an emergency Healer.

"I went out with a French team of volunteers in Somalia. An earthquake had triggered old curses weaved into the earth by slave traders. The damage was unimaginable and we had to work with basically nothing while the ground beneath our very feet kept shaking. The first thing I learnt was a Stabilisation Spell and how to uphold it for hours. We worked in teams of three, one to keep the ground still, one to hold up the tent and one to actually operate on the patients." Healer Gupta had a knowing smile on her face; she knew something about adverse environments.

"It served me well on my second go-around. We went for a brief stint in Afghanistan and I did nothing but cast Protection Charms against stray Muggle explosives. I think I might prefer curses to be honest." At that point, even the British delegates were enraptured by his tales.

"In the end, I had to wait until my third mission to start doing any real medical work, but that's the nature of emergency healing, isn't it?" He smiled at Healer Gupta's amused nod.

When they stood up from the table and parted ways Draco realised that, despite the vegetarian nature of the meal he'd just had, he hadn't missed meat at all. Each dish had been hearty and filling without weighing him down, and the spices had tickled his nose all the way through. He spared a glance towards Potter's retreating back, his head bent to speak quietly with Granger as they made their way towards the bar with Healer Gupta. The rest of the British delegation hung back with Yuvarani in the foyer but Draco decided to lift the imposition of his presence on the group and headed out towards the hotel gardens, determined to finally explore his surroundings and decide how his precious little free time was going to be employed. He had to admit the luxury suites were a pleasant change from his usual accommodations, but after speaking with Healer Gupta about the state of the communities they were supposed to support, Draco doubted he would have many chances to enjoy the many amenities the hotel had to offer, or be a tourist in Calcutta for that matter.

The last rays of sun tinged the sky blood red, orange and purple when he stepped out on the perfectly trimmed grass. The light of the dying day lined in gold the few clouds dotting the sky above him, and the lights of the city started painting the view as the sky grew darker.

He avoided the pool and the noise of splashing water, favouring the stone path along the garden, enjoying the cool air provided by the trees. He could carve out an hour of his day, or even just half that to come out here and do yoga. He wasn't a fan of indoor gyms and the view was gorgeous out here. He could come out around dawn when the heat wasn't stifling yet…

When he made his way back inside to the bar there was no trace of Potter or Granger anywhere. He ordered half a glass of champagne and toasted to the good luck of this endeavour; he would drink the other half of this drink once the job was done. It was like a promise, something Bill Weasley had taught him when they crossed paths in Egypt for the first time. The team adopted it and Draco felt for the first time terribly alone toasting on his own at a hotel bar in Calcutta about to embark on a mission with people who could barely look him in the eye.

As he changed and got into bed the one thought he hung onto was _at least I have Granger._

* * *

Harry bit his tongue until they left the table and split ways, but as soon as he was sitting at the bar with just Hermione he couldn't hold it back anymore.

"He's shameless, Hermione. Coming to dinner showing off his Dark Mark. It's like he's trying to derail the entire mission before it even starts." He slammed back the Firewhisky.

"Harry, it's a cursed marking covering his entire forearm, it's not like he can very easily hide it," she pointed out placidly. "And it doesn't hold the same meaning here as it does in the UK. Not everyone is affected by it like we are. As horrible as it may sound, Voldemort wasn't that big a deal outside of the UK."

"Yeah, well, I know what it means, I'm not going to forget that easily," he muttered, swishing his second glass around, letting the ice clink against the crystal. He couldn't get more than this, not while in charge of Hermione's protection, so he was going to make it last. As nice and aged as the liquor was it couldn't burn hotter than the bitter anger clinging to his throat when he thought about Malfoy showing off in front of Healer Gupta, being entertaining and dialling up the charm as if he wasn't sporting the symbol of a British blood supremacist right there on his arm.

As if reading his mind Hermione dragged him back upstairs as soon as he finished his second drink. She sat him down in her suite and they played Exploding Snap until the boiling rage in Harry's stomach wasn't threatening to spill over anymore. He bid her goodnight and headed back to his room down the carpeted corridor.

As he slid between feather-soft sheets, he couldn't help but think about the following day and what might be waiting for them behind the protection of governmental wards confining innocent people away from the resources needed to understand themselves. As big as it may be, a closet under the stairs was still a closet under the stairs. He tossed and turned, as the thought of Malfoy wouldn't allow him to rest. Nobody seemed to be able to see him for what he was. He wasn't even trying to hide it, but somehow, he still had everyone fooled. Everyone except Harry. He was going to keep an eye on him, two if he could manage.


	3. Chapter 3

A luxury hotel before dawn was an eerie thing to experience. Staff members walked quietly around the kitchen and the restaurants, preparing for breakfast service, but everything else was caught in complete stillness. A sleepy man at the front desk nodded at him when he passed by, heading out to the back garden. The air was still cool from the night, dew dotting every blade of grass and clinging to the edges of the big stone slabs forming the path.

Draco found a secluded corner of the garden where he could see a small stretch of the horizon between the trees, the clear sky above him turning grey before the colours of dawn flooded it. He rolled out the mat, took off his shoes and stepped on it, flexing his feet for a moment to get a feel for the ground under him. He took a slow breath and then another before he started, slowly flowing from one asana to the next. One by one, unhurriedly, he activated each muscle, stretching and pushing past the stiffness of sleep and old injuries until a thin sheen of sweat covered him and the sky was ablaze with reds and pinks above him. He allowed himself a bit longer than usual in savasana, staring up at the sky and preparing to face the day, then he pushed himself up, rolled up the mat and resized it to slip it in his pocket.

Thirty minutes made a world of difference. The hotel was already buzzing with activity as he slipped in through a side entrance and headed straight to the elevator. Businessmen in suits hurried through the lobby, a conference on the effects of monsoons on potion brewing was setting up the welcome desk in a corner, and the delicious smell of food wafted out of the restaurants. He nabbed a lift and got up to their floor with just enough time to shower and change before breakfast. As soon as the lift doors opened Potter's face greeted him from the corridor.

"Potter," he nodded as he sidestepped him.

He didn't get an acknowledgement back but he had bigger things to worry about than Potter's pissy mood.

He showered quickly and got dressed to work. His belt was buckled over sturdy trousers and a light linen shirt. He slid his wand in its holster on the belt and checked his stock of basic potions before heading out to have breakfast and get the day's briefing from Granger.

The table was much smaller than the one from the previous night. Granger and Potter were already there, chatting with the translator.

"Miss Rana, how nice to see you again," he greeted her as he took his seat. "Ambassador." He nodded at Granger.

"Draco ji, I hope you're ready to work," she replied with a polite smile. Today's hijab was tucked tightly around her face, utilitarian, in a light sand colour with little decoration, a garment for a woman indeed ready to get to work right next to him.

* * *

The British delegation met up with Healer Gupta and her trainees at a secluded bend of the Hoogly river. They were a good ways away from the city centre of Calcutta but they were in no way outside of its limit, either. They all loaded into a low and wide wooden boat. Draco felt it when they crossed the border of inconceivably sturdy Muggle-Repelling Charms and floated slowly along a new branch of the river that hadn't been there a moment before. They docked not long after that, on a small island emerging from the murky water of the river. The group split up as soon as they got off the boat. Granger took Potter, her Charms Professor and Miss Yuvarani to go meet the elders and start exploring the possibility of establishing a new gurukul for the community. That left Draco with Auror Foster, who looked for all intents and purposes like she'd lost a bet to Potter and she suspected foul play, and a St Mungo's Healer he hadn't bothered learning the name of. Along with the Bengali Healers and Miss Rana, they were tasked to open up shop at the temporary medical centre and investigate the general state of the population.

The structure they were given wasn't that different from any other field hospital Draco had worked in. Earth-toned tents and flimsy partition walls somehow were universal. It was smaller than what he was used to, and the walk-through didn't take more than a few minutes. Soon enough Draco was stepping out, flanked by Healer Gupta and Miss Rana, to meet the first patients. There were a lot of limbs to resize, skin to Transfigure back to a healthy brown from outrageous greens, blues and purples, bones to regrow, lips to unseal. It was almost relaxing, holding slow conversations with patients young and old through the help of Miss Rana. The gentle lilt of her voice, the musical vowels and soft consonants of the Bengali words, were a grounding background noise as Draco worked. The overwhelmed happiness of a man bowing his head to him, with his hands to his chest and a sheen of tears in his eyes, after he fixed the second nose that had sprouted on his face several years before didn't need translation.

When they gathered to share lunch, Draco was almost starting to think this might be an easy mission, a nice break from environmental disasters and collapsing buildings. He was fully committed to enjoying his fragrant fish curry and rice, wondering if he could maybe sneak some of those fried veggies that had been served to Potter and Healer Gupta. They smelled too delicious not to try and taste some, but in the end, he didn't get a chance to ask.

A man burst in, carrying a little girl's body and urgently speaking words Draco didn't need to understand to get the picture. The girl looked perfectly okay, which usually meant that something was horribly wrong with her. He shot to his feet and gestured for the man to follow him inside, hoping Griffith and Miss Rana would get the message and catch up.

It didn't take more than a few seconds and a well-executed Diagnostic Spell to find out the entirety of the girl's left lung had been Vanished and with it, a good chunk of the right. Draco weaved a strong Stasis and overlaid a Containment Spell before filling it with oxygen to help whatever was left of her lungs support her while Draco worked.

"Griffith, I need you to cast a Structural Support Charm on her chest cavity," he ordered when he saw the other Healer come in.

"I… I don't know how to do that," he admitted.

Draco tore his eyes off the girl to look the man in the face. What the hell did they teach in St Mungo's these days?

"Can you regrow lungs?" he asked.

"With a Popper-Modified Miracle Growth, sure."

Draco had to take a deep breath to avoid maiming the man on the spot. "Does it look like we have a potion lab around here to brew Miracle Growth of any kind?"

"No, Healer Malfoy," he mumbled, staring at his shoes.

As much as he wanted to go off on a rant about incompetence there was no time for it. "I'm going to cast the Structural Support Charm and you're going to sustain it while I work on the lungs. Can you do that?"

"Yes."

Draco nodded and drew the delicate shapes with practised ease, muscle memory kicking in as he flicked his wand. As Griffith carefully took over sustaining the spell, Draco had a movement of gratitude for Miss Rana taking care of comforting the man—father?—staring at them anxiously from the corner while she spoke with him in hushed tones. At least someone didn't need hand-holding.

Even just with the help of a Structural Support Charm easing the weight of her chest the girl seemed to breathe more easily. He cast a simple Deeper Vision Charm on himself and got to work.

The process of regrowing lungs was slow and fiddly, and as he made his way through the first lobe he spoke calmly with Griffith, explaining what he was doing to compensate for the lack of potions.

"I want you to get some freshly butchered meat when we get back to the city and practice regrowing tissue without the help of potions, because I have the feeling this isn't going to be the last organ we'll have to remake and there is only one of me." He tore his eyes off the girl and glanced up at Griffith's face waiting for him to acknowledge the order.

"Yes, Healer Malfoy." The answer came strangled.

"Everything alright, Griffith?" Draco asked casually as he went back to work on the girl. "Tell me if you can't hold the spell up anymore, we'll get someone to step in for you."

"No, I'm fine, it's just… Your eyes."

Draco huffed out a laugh, realising he'd just stared down the man with fully black, slightly demonic looking eyes.

"It's only Deeper Vision, Griffith, you better get used to this," he told him with a gentle note of teasing, the poor man was so out of his depth it was almost cute. "We don't have the fancy lenses you people use in England and I'm not going to waste energy to cast Phantom Image Projection for your entertainment, this isn't a classroom."

"I'm sorry, Healer Malfoy."

"Don't apologise, learn."

The hours ticked by slowly as Draco shaped each bronchiole, one by one, filling the girl's chest cavity and lessening the strain on Griffith's spell. At one point, Healer Gupta came in with her trainees so they could see the procedure.

With the girl's condition stabilising as Draco finished reconstructing the second lobe, he asked for an update on their work during the day.

"The people's magic is wild and untrained," Healer Gupta said. "Their doshas are not in balance, and their magic hurts them and those around them."

Draco hummed his acknowledgement as he kept working. He wanted to get as much done as possible, but he doubted he could pull a complete reconstruction in one day.

"The children are less at risk from themselves, as their magic is small and still developing. Some of the elders received training before the last guru died, but the adults are unstable and unable to ground themselves."

"Can they be grounded with external influence until they begin training?" Draco asked.

"Very slowly and one at a time. We couldn't get to the entire population before our energy was too depleted to continue safely."

Draco looked up at that and glanced at the small window on the side of the structure to see the light of day fading as the sun started to set. How many hours had he been working?

"I suppose we'll have to continue working in tandem, with Griffith and I dealing with the emergencies while you and your team take preventative measures with the population." He'd been hoping to learn more about Healer Gupta's style of healing, but his personal interests had to take a step back in the face of the current situation. "The strain should lessen once Granger can reach a compromise with the government about education. We just need to hold things at bay until they get a new gurukul."

* * *

Draco kept going after Healer Gupta left with the rest of the team, until Griffith started showing signs of strain that made Draco question his ability to hold the Structural Support Charm for much longer. He decided not to push his luck, strengthened the Stasis, and set up Monitoring Spells and failsafes to make sure the girl would make it through the night. As he’d explained to her father, with the help of Miss Rana, she had a full lung working and she was under respiratory support, so Draco didn't worry too much as he stepped out to board the boat back to the rest of the world.

They got back to the hotel well after dinner service hours but Granger had arranged for a table to be prepared for him and Griffith. Only when a plate of crispy and spicy fried fish was placed in front of him did Draco realise he hadn't eaten anything of substance since breakfast. A lone, mournful thought was spared for the warm bowl of fish curry that had remained uneaten at lunch.

"You did good work today, Griffith," he mentioned when he noticed the other man staring sullenly at his food.

"I was unprepared and of little help," he argued.

"We all are at the beginning." Draco shrugged. "You're used to a fully stocked hospital, with state-of-the-art machinery and infrastructure. It's going to be an adjustment to have only your wand to rely on."

Griffith nodded but he didn't seem at all convinced. Draco was glad they didn't lose the girl; it would have been a much different conversation to have.

"You're not what I expected," Griffith said after a stretch of silence.

Draco raised an eyebrow in question. "How so?"

Griffith couldn't be much more than four or five years younger than Draco, but in that moment, he looked like a schoolboy caught unprepared as he tugged on his ear trying not to say something offensive.

"The stories about you in England are…"

"About a decade outdated, but I suppose fairly accurate," Draco finished for him, ending his misery.

"They say you're a Death Eater."

Draco turned his left arm so Griffith could see the Dark Mark still undeniably there, etched into his skin and clearly recognisable even with the modification Draco did to it.

"Is that why you left England?"

"Aren't you asking awfully intimate questions?" Draco asked mildly.

"Sorry. I didn't mean… I was just curious."

"I wasn't allowed to train as a Healer, that's why I left." Why he stayed away was another question entirely. "You're not what I expected either, Timothy Griffith," Draco mentioned to steer the conversation towards safer ground.

"Oh?"

"You're a lot more agreeable than I thought you would be," Draco elaborated, "Willing to follow."

"You have six years of experience on me," he pointed out, as if that meant anything in the face of Draco's name when it came to dealing with British wixen.

"I do." Draco propped his elbow up on the table and leaned his chin on his hand, studying the young man in front of him while a waitress quickly cleared the empty plates. Judging by his age, he must have been one of the first to start Hogwarts after reconstructions. This man, with his round face and curly hair, had only had a brush with the war, too young to entirely understand what was going on if he was lucky. 

"Why did you come here?" he asked as the waitress came back with two cups of mishti doi.

"I believed in Ambassador Granger's programme," Griffith replied quickly.

"You're a staunch believer in anticolonialism, to the point of sacrificing three months during your last year of training to work unpaid in a field that's clearly not your choice of specialisation?" Draco's face was collected and his tone deadpan. It didn't take more than ten seconds for Griffith to break.

"I thought it would look great on my curriculum and I kinda also wanted to meet Granger," he admitted, pulling a smile out of Draco. "The five-star accommodation was a nice incentive too."

Draco hummed his agreement. "It's a nice change of pace for me too," he admitted.

* * *

Draco had to admit the weather control, Egyptian cotton sheets and a mattress at the exact right level of firmness had its advantages when he woke up rested and refreshed. He still took the time to go out and do some yoga; he knew better than to skip it, given the long hours of fiddly work ahead of him, he couldn't afford to have a crick at the wrong moment.

After the late-night conversation with Griffith, getting a bit of common ground and none of the hostility he expected, not even Potter's scowl could put a dampener on his mood. He didn't have to ignore him for too long either. Like the previous day, as soon as they touched down on the small island in the middle of the river, Potter split off with Granger and Professor Chambers, leaving him with Griffith and Auror Foster to pick up the work where they left off.

"Ready to get back to it, Griffith?" Draco asked, rolling up his sleeves and casting a quick Diagnostic Spell to check on the girl's conditions.

"Yes, Healer Malfoy."

Healer Gupta remained to let the trainees watch Draco cast a Structural Support Charm and Deeper Vision Charm. Draco did his best to explain what he was doing and hoped Miss Rana could translate well enough to the trainees.

As he passed the Structural Support Charm over to Griffith and got to work reconstructing the remaining lobes of the girl's lungs, he tuned them out, the musical lilt of Bengali words easing his concentration as he threaded soft tissue together to slowly fill the empty chest cavity. At some point, he noticed Healer Gupta had left to take care of the preventative measures along with her trainees. Luckily, Griffith kept a better grasp on time passing and reminded him to stretch every few hours.

"Healer Malfoy?"

Draco replied with a questioning hum without taking his eyes off from the girl. 

"Should we take a break to eat?"

Draco thought about it for a moment and glanced at the Monitoring Spells set up around the girl.

"We can't keep her under Stasis much longer, she's starting to show signs of sufferance." He pointed at an indicator slowly turning purple from the red it was the previous day. "We should finish. Do you think you can keep going for a few more hours?" he asked.

Griffith nodded and pushed his curls back from his forehead.

"It won't always be this bad, hopefully. Healer Gupta can prevent the worst of these accidents," Draco reassured him.

Draco ended up reducing the field of stasis when he started working on the last lobe so it wouldn't affect the girl as much, and sent Griffith off to eat. He had his own lunch at around five in the afternoon, leaving Griffith to take care of minor Transfiguration mishaps. The broken bones, disfigurations and accidental poisonings forced Draco to tap into the limited number of base potions he brought along. He couldn't avoid giving a dose of Calming Draught to the woman who got her leg crushed in a house explosion. The woman who had accidentally Vanished her pelvic bone during childbirth got his one dose of Skele-Gro; the rest of them he could deal with his wand alone. A lot of it was soothing burns and testing for accidental curses and leftover jinxes.

By the time the sun set and Granger came to collect them Draco felt like they barely made a dent in the number of people who needed help, but Granger insisted they leave together.

"It's no use if you burn yourself out in the first week, I need you for three months, Malfoy," she reminded him.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry spent most of his days listening to Hermione and Professor Chambers discuss the local history of magic with a group of ancient-looking wixen. He tried to keep up with the discussion, and the history of colonial oppression made him angry enough that for a while he forgot about Malfoy on the other end of the island playing hero. He knew that Malfoy was up to something. He didn't fall for his charm and the friendly mask he put on for everyone around. He had to have a motive to be around, unpaid. It didn't matter how many sideways glances Hermione threw at him; he was going to get to the bottom of it. It almost felt too easy when he caught him sneaking back into his room early in the morning two days in a row. He just needed to follow him next time and see where he went and who he talked to. He wasn't going to let the ferret screw up Hermione's mission. It was easy to Disillusion himself, cast a Notice-Me-Not as precaution and walk leisurely a few feet behind him, light as a Lethifold and unnoticed by everyone.

He knew during the day he wasn't going anywhere. They were stuck on the island and Foster swore both he and Griffith barely left the field hospital's operating room. So, whatever it was he was doing had to be done early in the morning or late at night. Harry followed him out of the back entrance into the garden. Did he have a member of the staff helping him with his plot?

He kept himself behind the cover of trees and shrubbery for good measure as they made their way down the stone path. When Malfoy finally stopped, Harry scanned the environment, trying to catch whoever was going to come and avoid being taken by surprise. But Malfoy didn't seem to be waiting for anyone, he just… unrolled a yoga mat and started a leisurely practice.

Harry watched him slowly up the difficulty of the positions, lean muscles flexing as he shifted the weight of his body, flowing seamlessly from one asana to the next. The precision and economy of movement and breath were exactly how he remembered them when they duelled back in school; with a wand or a broom Malfoy had always been lethal and precise. Harry idly wondered when and how did he start practising yoga. It didn't seem like something he would pick up from British high society, and yet the ease with which he moved indicated a seasoned practitioner. He was so distracted by his thoughts that Malfoy almost bumped into him on his way back to the hotel.

Harry hurried back up to his room to shower and get down to breakfast. He almost asked Foster to switch groups, given how Malfoy had managed to stay behind the previous day, and Merlin knew who he met and what he did after they left him and Griffith behind on the island. Hermione's stern look made him reconsider. He needed to gather more evidence of Malfoy's misdeeds so she would be persuaded before he made a move that blatant. He held back and tried not to step on anyone's feet, content to observe as Hermione gathered all the elders, the ones who were less removed from the last guru that survived in the community after Britain swooped in, destroying gurukuls and eradicating gurus. Yuvarani worked hard to translate the fast-paced speech of Professor Chambers. He tried to keep up with what they were talking about, charms were charms after all, but soon enough they went into the harnessing of weather and life force that was too far outside his field of specialisation to make heads or tails either in English or Bengali.

Hermione's frustration was far too easy to read in any language, the clenched fists, tapping feet and tugging of curls didn’t need translation. It was worse than she'd originally thought. Harry glanced at the kids gathered a bit away, trying to look inconspicuous as they eavesdropped. They couldn't have been much older than fifteen. In a better world, they would be about to master control of their power, they would have had years to explore the possibilities of magic. Instead, they were cut off from their history by a cruel trick of someone pulling the strings of something infinitely bigger than them and at the same time inconsequential, like the spasmodic desire for more of a man halfway across the world, a hunger that could never be satiated.

He saw himself in every small brown face, the same unfairness, the same power that burned and killed everyone around him, a power he never asked for and that nobody explained to him.

How many generations had passed without any of them getting education? How much tradition had been eroded, how much culture had been washed away with every monsoon? Here they were, cut off from their roots, no less out of place than Harry, trying to cling to the crumbs that were left behind and piece together the remnants of a lost identity.

His throat closed up with a suppressed need to yell at the unfairness of it all. It was injustice that screamed vengeance in the face of God; there were families, generations of people whose footprint on the earth was being inexorably wiped away by England's greed and indifference.

And then there was Malfoy playing hero, gloating and showing off, laughing with the locals like this was some kind of game to him, a different kind of vacation.

He was still carrying around that weight in the pit of his stomach when they got back to the hotel after the second day of work and decided he couldn't handle another meal with Malfoy's short hair shining under the lights and his perfect smile seducing everyone it was directed at. He excused himself with Hermione and walked out on his own. They were with Foster in the unlikely possibility that anything were to happen that needed Auror intervention.

He walked slowly along the same street he'd taken that first afternoon, carrying around the weight of the day and so much more. The air slowly cooled around him, bringing some relief from the sweat beading his forehead. The Gurdwara was exactly where he remembered it, and the same aching nostalgia squeezed his heart. How he could miss something he never had he couldn't quite explain, but behind those doors there were years of his family's traditions that he was robbed of. He took off his shoes and covered his head before taking a further step inside. He followed the sound of cooking and the steps of other temple goers until he found the kitchen and he could sit down among strangers he could barely share a couple words with and do his part to prepare langar. It didn't take long for people around him to understand he didn't speak Bengali further than _'Aami bangala bolte pari na'_ and soon there were a few Hindi words being thrown around, mixed with heavily accented English that warmed Harry more than the rhythmic muscle movement of rolling out roti after roti. As soon as he flipped one towards the cooking station another small ball of dough was rolled in front of him as he heard about gossip, history, religion and the proper rolling technique, all mixing together in one gentle caress of round Bengali vowels softening the harshness of the English language.

He went back to the hotel after sharing a simple meal with a sea of strangers, feeling more connected than he'd ever remembered feeling since his first dinner in the Great Hall at Hogwarts.

It was still early when he got back in. There were people hanging out at the bar, and late diners still filled the restaurants. Hermione was sharing a drink with Professor Chambers in the lounge and she waved him over as soon as she spotted him.

"How was dinner?" she asked as soon as he sat down with them.

"Good," Harry replied with a small smile. "Uncomplicated."

Hermione nodded and he knew she understood.

"Emmanuel was telling me how wonderful the spa is here," she mentioned.

Hermione had a one-track mind when she worked, the fact that she was even thinking about massages and flower baths meant something was up, and there was only one way Harry was going to find out what.

"Do you want to check it out?" he proposed.

Hermione glanced at her watch. "It is still rather early, isn't it?"

He waited until they were wrapped in fluffy bathrobes walking down a quiet corridor with walls decorated with stunningly intricate geometric mosaics before asking the question.

"What's on your mind?"

Hermione sighed, pushed open the door and walked in. "I'm starting to wonder whether I've bitten more than I can chew," she admitted.

There were two tubs, close enough to each other that they could keep talking quietly even after getting in the mud bath. Hermione didn't waste time, shedding her robe immediately and climbing in the tub, slowly lowering herself in the mud. She giggled as her leg disappeared in the mud and Harry quickly followed, gingerly dipping his toe in.

It was oddly warm, and it took a moment for it to settle over Harry's body, dense and still, holding him up suspended in an earthy embrace.

"I'm afraid there have been too many generations gone without guidance, and it's only one community. There's one for every major city, let alone those who retreated in the rural areas. How can I get to all of them? What if there is no one left who remembers the way to get to the Unplottable lands?" Hermione sighed. "And then we need gurus. They are already hard to come by for structured magical schools. Even there, they rely on Western-trained teachers, keeping traditional magical practices as an advanced elective. And I don't have money or fame to entice them with to rebuild small gurukuls around the country."

Harry hummed softly, letting her get everything out. Ron and he had learnt a long time ago that sometimes it was best to let Hermione talk until she figured out the solution to her problems on her own. She just needed someone to nod and hum at appropriate intervals so she could detangle her mind.

"Emmanuel was talking about bringing professors in from England and I don’t like it. That's more of what screwed the magical culture in the first place. But I can't leave those people to fend for themselves."

Harry nodded, she was on the right track, they couldn't just come in and teach English practices, wiping out the tattered remnant of the local style of magic use.

By the time a woman in an hotel uniform came to let them know their time was up and they could go shower and head in for a massage if they liked, Hermione had reached the conclusion that they could bring in Thai experts to try and preserve the communities from being further contaminated by western prescriptions on magical practices, and maybe reconstruct the lost traditions leaning on the cultural proximity, so Harry guessed they were done with self-care for the night.

The showers had the same gorgeous tile design of the hall, and the different shades of blue here created an illusion of flowing water even before Harry turned the tap on and the perfect pressure of water started washing away the mud.

The shifting light, catching on the iridescent tiles, was almost hypnotising and Harry might have ended up spending more time than he realised under the spray because when he stepped out, newly dressed and feeling refreshed, there was no trace of Hermione. He wasn't too worried about her safety but he hadn't paid enough attention to the path they took to get there and the corridors all looked the same. He opened the door he guessed led back to the front desk but he found himself in a massage room, clearly occupied. He was about to apologise and leave when he recognised the man slumped shirtless in the chair with a woman working at his back and one at his hand.

"Sir you can't—"

Malfoy glanced up when he heard the girl behind him address Harry and waved his free hand in a placating manner.

"It's fine."

"Are you sure, Sāhab?"

Malfoy nodded and then his eyes settled on Harry. "Potter, were you looking for me or is this a lucky coincidence?" he asked with a casual tone that set Harry's blood boiling.

"Enjoying the spa, Malfoy?" he asked, unable to repress his contempt.

"Quite a bit, how about you?" His tone was calm but Harry could read the provocation behind the words, the snake behind the flower.

"Is this a joke to you? A paid vacation where you could go enjoy the stay and live like a gentleman of leisure at England's expense?"

Once again, a gesture from Malfoy stopped the women from protesting at Harry's words.

"Allow me to dispel the notion that England is paying for me in any way. While it may have been Ambassador Granger who tracked me down personally to recruit me for this diplomatic mission, I'm here at the pleasure of the Bengali government, who is paying for my stay. But that's not what got your golden panties in a twist, is it, Potter? You don't care about something as vile as money."

Harry's eyes narrowed but he couldn't get a word in. Malfoy had him pinned in place with the weight of his disinterested gaze.

"You're worried I'm not taking this seriously enough, that I'm, Merlin forbid, enjoying some part of it instead of just suffering for the cause. Let me reassure your sanctimonious soul, Potter. Unlike someone else’s, _my_ role in this mission is to actually work instead of lending my name and face to leverage governments and having the tourist experience of Calcutta.”

Harry tried to argue that it wasn’t true, but deep down he did feel purposeless, a prop for Hermione’s political game. Either way, Malfoy wasn’t done and a hissed word from him was enough to shut Harry up.

“I spent fourteen hours operating yesterday, and ten more today, with virtually no break because the only other Healer England bothered to send hasn't completed his training and has only the most basic skills in the field we're working in. Ah, by the way, despite being thrust unprepared in the deep end of the pool I haven't heard a single complaint from Griffith. He's doing his best to keep up and learn what he can to be of use."

The woman working on Malfoy's arm switched sides and Harry's eyes fell on his pale forearm, the Dark Mark's clean dark lines over it. He could say whatever he liked but Harry knew that he was the same entitled shit he'd always been.

"But we're not here to talk about Griffith, are we? We're here because I don't deserve luxury." Every word was dripping with a patronising sweetness. "Do you know what happens when you spend sixteen hours a day casting? You were combat trained; you should have an inkling. Your muscles get stiff. I know thinking has never been your forte but make a bit of effort with me, Potter. Do you know what happens if my hand cramps at the wrong moment?"

Malfoy waited until Harry was looking him straight in the face to continue.

"Children. Die." He hadn't raised his voice above a spa-appropriate quiet tone but those two words were deafening, cutting through the buzz of anger in Harry's ears. "Because your precious England couldn't be bothered to send me adequate support."

Malfoy sighed and the fire died down behind his eyes. "I know you can barely stand to look at me, Potter. There isn't much I can do about it, but I'm here to work and I'd appreciate it if you didn't actively make it harder on me. Right now, these women are serving your country better than you can and I have another long day tomorrow, so could you kindly fuck off?"

Harry wanted to make a scene, but the thought of Hermione telling him she wasn't going to stand with him if he pushed her held him back.

"Screw you, Malfoy," he muttered before backing out the room and pulling the door behind himself. It didn't even give him the satisfaction to slam shut; damn Cushioning Charms in the frame.

It took him a good few minutes to find his way back to the foyer and he was still fuming when he got to his bedroom. He barely got a wink of sleep, replaying every word Malfoy threw at him in his mind. He couldn't stand the thought of working with him around for months.

At around three he remembered his therapist's advice to meditate and do his breathing exercises to balance himself out and maybe get some sleep before he had to deal with his smug face again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aami bangala bolte pari na = I don’t speak Bengali


	5. Chapter 5

Harry was torn when Hermione asked him to accompany her to a meeting with the head of the Department of Education. On one hand, he knew she would be able to make a stronger case for reform with him there, his name and his face had some international notoriety and this was a cause he didn’t mind his image being exploited for. On the other, he wanted to keep a very close eye on Malfoy, but he couldn’t very well say that out loud.

He put on his best kurta, shaved his face clean, and ended up sitting in a stuffed chair in a medium-sized office at the Bengal branch of the Indian Ministry of Magic. He had a chance to argue the fact that educating the entire population would reduce the international sanctions imposed on India for potential breaches of the International Statute of Secrecy, and it would free a lot of resources when they’d be able to resize the Obliviation and Muggle-Worthy Excuses Department, syphoning off personnel from every other department. He hated taking such a utilitarian approach when he wanted to grab the man by the lapels and shake him until he got that every person deserved an education, but Hermione was right to say they needed to court the public officials. She spoke about public support for humanitarian causes, and how no one would be against supporting magical children, how much international interest it would garner, let alone the national notoriety for being the one to start reform in all of India.

When the discussion shifted from massive tracking spells towards the technicalities of education reform, Harry started to struggle to keep up and stared at the massive map of India hanging on the wall behind the desk. Each new child coming into their power flared on it as a little flame, flickering on and then off as soon as someone took care to add them to the registry. Except… They all knew there were pockets untouched by that map, places where people burned themselves out with untrained magic without being anything more than a blip on the radar.

After spending the morning needling and negotiating for this man to take his wand and lift the world, Hermione asked for financing to get a guru and three Healers from Thailand to support the Calcutta insular magical community, and the same for any other isolated enclave residing in West Bengal. The man was all too happy to acquiesce to such a simple request so he could be free of them and their outrageous appeals to his conscience. He even offered to find them himself, which seemed to greatly please Hermione.

She was still smiling when they exited the building, and Harry was honestly impressed with how she manoeuvred the department head, how she manoeuvred him and Harry’s anger to pressure the man into granting all the resources they needed.

“And who knows, maybe he will actually put some pressure on the central government now that he has a finger in the cause,” she mentioned.

Harry had his doubts, but it was undeniable that now they could get all the expert support they would need, and they did sow the seed of education reform.

* * *

The days started to blend together for Draco after a while. Potter still pretended like he didn't exist save for those times he looked at him full of contempt. He knew he didn't have a leg to stand on when it came to Potter; any kind of animosity he still held was entirely justified, Draco had done more than enough to warrant a lifelong grudge, and he'd fooled himself into thinking that if Granger was willing to overlook their past, Potter would do the same.

He could recall the last time their paths crossed, almost ten years prior, at Draco's sentencing. Shacklebolt and McGonagall had campaigned for everyone to get a fair trial and there had been massive use of Veritaserum during every step of the proceeding. He'd felt the taste of bile on his tongue as he was compelled to report on every last horrifying and cowardly act he'd been party to, the weeks in Azkaban an uninterrupted nightmare. And then Granger had stepped up to the witness stand. Draco had her screams of tortured pain still resonating in his ears as she delivered a potion-compelled character testimony.

He was pinned under her dark eyes as she spoke clearly and eloquently, and he knew she was talking just for him.

"Malfoy was a child soldier like any of us, he had the misfortune of ending on the wrong side of a conflict much bigger than him. When the chips were down, he refused to identify Harry, buying us the chance to escape. At the end of the Battle of Hogwarts he defected in front of everyone and joined the fight against Voldemort. Too little, too late, but I believe it shows his potential for change."

Her words cut deep. They were true but it wasn't enough. He hadn't done enough in the end and he'd done too much for it to be balanced by that. His mother was sitting straight right next to him, thin and frail, her hair greyer than he remembered it being the last time he'd seen her.

And then Potter stormed in, taking the stand as if it had personally offended him. It was clear he wasn't any happier than Draco about being in that room. His gaze leveraged accusations against him that the Wizengamot could only begin to imagine as he was subjected to the indignity of taking Veritaserum and being interrogated about the incident in the Forbidden Forest the night of the Battle of Hogwarts. Draco could see him fight every word that spilled from his lips. He could see the distaste burning his tongue with every concession he made about his mother's involvement in the vanquishing of the Dark Lord. He didn't stay to hear the sentence being passed; all their English properties being repossessed, save for Malfoy Manor, on account of it being an ancestral home, and three-fourths of the non-cursed content of the Malfoy family Gringotts vault being devolved to the war reparations effort. Draco imagined he heard it from Granger before the papers. They were free but stripped of everything he'd known most of his life. Their name was less than worthless and the considerable amount of gold they still had was no good in the United Kingdom, not then, not after the re-education programme, not after the community service hours.

He'd left in a self-imposed exile, dedicating every day to training and working for free to offer relief to people hurt by the system he'd profited from since before he was born. And yet it wasn't enough. It would never be enough for Potter's anger to stop being justified. But that didn't absolve him from trying.

With that knowledge heavy in his chest, he worked every day, breathing life in his patients, soothing wounds, unravelling curse damage, cleansing poisons. Each day it got hotter and more humid, to the point where he had to teach Griffith how to weave a Weather-Control Charm into his Personal Protection Charms so they wouldn't drip sweat on whoever they were operating on. He sorely missed the desert on those days.

It took three weeks for Miss Rana’s teasing nickname 'Sādā sāpa' to catch on, and soon after that the elders started calling him 'Sāhab-ji' bowing their heads and smiling whenever they saw the tattoo on his forearm. He was used to it, the way communities prostrated by tragedy flocked around a Healer or a teacher. He only tried once to dissuade them from using honorifics for him. His feelings about it mattered very little, what was important was bringing comfort to them when he couldn't bring health. He tried to deflect the attention towards Healer Gupta during meals. She was doing the actual life-changing work. He was only putting plasters on cuts after all, and she was working to exhaustion with her trainees, balancing the magical cores of kids and adults, moulding misshapen magic grown wild and without control in elders, twisting the environment around them. Her work was what would make a difference once they left.

He knew Potter hated it, hated the admiration and show of gratitude the people insisted on bestowing on him. He carried it written on his face as much as he avoided looking at Draco as if he was transparent, a ghost of an unpleasant memory. That's why he noticed when Potter's eyes snapped to him and he bristled when he heard the man serving them food address him with their nickname and such a high honorific. There was no way he was going to let it lie.

* * *

Harry bit his tongue for Hermione's sake, but his blood boiled whenever he saw Malfoy surrounded by simpering people, falling all over each other to express their gratitude. It was a mockery of what they were doing, a distorted mirror, and a disgusting repeat of the same prejudice and privilege structure that destroyed their community. Two women of colour were doing significant work to rebuild the community but it was the white fascist putting plasters on scraped knees and kissing babies that got treated like a hero. And Malfoy let them. He must have missed having his crew of yes men; this must be a nice nostalgic moment, feeling like the big man around.

When he heard a man address him as 'Sāhab-ji' Harry saw red. It didn't take more than a look to send Griffith away and corner Malfoy before they went back to work.

"Have you no shame?" Harry accused him, the words burning in his throat. "Sāhab-ji." He spat the honorific like it was poison. "It always comes back to your ego, doesn't it?"

Malfoy didn't speak, he just looked at him blankly and Harry needed him to react, to do something, to give himself away, to make sense of it.

"Another white man being rewarded for the bare minimum. You _need_ to be bigger and better than everyone else in the room, so you go around and play hero to feed your ego, don't you? This is your little game, fix some bones and be worshipped like some kind of messiah."

That got Malfoy to raise an eyebrow and sneer at him in a way that finally felt familiar. "You're one to talk to me about having a saviour complex? You, Saint Potter, martyr for us all? Come off it!"

Malfoy towered over him when he straightened up and stepped closer, forcing Harry to look up to keep eye contact.

"I'm trying to actually make things better here, Potter, I'm sure you haven't forgotten I have a debt with the world that I can't hope to pay in a lifetime."

"That's horse shit."

Malfoy took a step back as if Harry had slapped him.

"You're running away, and trying to make yourself feel better. This? This is performance, it has _nothing_ to do with the people you hurt. You don't have a duty towards the world, you don't owe some kind of cosmic debt to balance the scales, you owe some very real people back in England that you don't have the balls to face." Harry could feel the breath rushing out of his lungs and the weight lift from his chest as he finally said it.

"You owe ME, Malfoy. Fuck the world. Fuck your redemption. Fuck your ego. You owe _me_ first and I don't release you from your debt."

They stared at each other in silence for long moments, only Harry's panting breath between them and the shock coursing through them at the raw truth spilt between them.

"I do," Malfoy whispered, "I owe you, and whatever you need from me I will do, Potter, but I don't believe you know what that is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sādā sāpa = White Snake


	6. Chapter 6

As soon as Potter stalked off, Draco slumped down until he was sitting on the ground. He could still feel the magic crackling in the air where he stood just a moment earlier, leveraging all the accusations that Draco thought were secluded only in his head. He allowed himself a moment to breathe and stop the trembling in his hands before pushing himself up and running his fingers through his hair. He walked back to the field hospital and waved away Griffith's questions. Avoiding Miss Rana's enquiring gaze was a lot easier when he got to work but he couldn't ignore it forever when she was right at his shoulder, translating his words to patient after patient.

The days got longer and the heat more stifling after that, and Draco couldn't help but feel the weight of Potter's words oppressing his chest and cutting his breath short more than the unbearable humidity could. The monsoons were going to start soon and Granger's prophecy was slowly coming true. Draco was burning himself out, and he knew deep down he was doing it only to make Potter eat his words, or even just speak to him again, and stop pretending he was invisible when they occasionally crossed paths. He hated feeling like that, like Potter might have been right about him doing all of it for attention.

Granger cornered him one morning at the end of May and told him in no uncertain terms that he was taking a day off and he was going to spend it at the spa surrounded by crystals so he could recharge his magic.

"But…"

"Griffith can take care of mending bones and some burns for one day on his own. You said it yourself how much better he's gotten in just a month and a half. Healer Gupta is there for anything more complex," she cut off his protest.

Draco raised his hands in surrender. The line of her shoulders relaxed when he acquiesced and a smile touched her lips for a moment.

"Can I ask you what happened between you and Harry?" she asked in a tone that was less Ambassador and more Granger.

"What makes you think something happened?" Draco asked instead of answering directly.

"He was like a dog with a bone when we got here but I haven't heard a single word of complaint from him for weeks."

"Can't he have graduated from open hostility to the much more mature position of pretending I don't exist at all?"

Granger narrowed her eyes at him. "It's not his style," she pointed out. "Do I need to worry about you two?"

"I can only speak for myself, Granger, I have no more sway on Potter than you do," Draco pointed out.

"Do I?"

"Not if I have a say in the matter," Draco conceded. It seemed to be enough of an answer for her to be satisfied.

"Good."

The one day off turned into two because the heavy rain prevented them from going back to the island. Draco woke up to the sound of it hitting the window, obscuring the view and wrapping him in a bubble away from the world. It took a long contemplative moment to realise he wasn't going to be able to go out and do yoga in the garden.

After quick deliberation he decided to go explore the gym, there was bound to be some space for him to do his morning practice. It wasn't hard to find the way there, as inhumanly cheery staff members were more than happy to give him directions. He didn't expect for someone else to be there before dawn, facing the floor to ceiling windows, running on one of the treadmills lined up against them.

It took him a moment to recognise Potter without his Auror uniform or the more inconspicuous trousers and kurta. But it was him, even with the grey sweatpants and white t-shirt, clinging to his shoulders in a way that should be illegal. Draco knew he should have found an escape route but it was too late. By the time he realised who his companion was Potter had spotted his reflection on the glass so Draco walked in and rolled out his mat a few feet away. They could be civil for an hour. Besides, given the pace Potter was keeping and the sweat already soaking through the cotton of his shirt he doubted he had much breath to spare in order to throw barbs in his direction.

Draco started slowly, warming up and focusing on his breath, but the sound of Potter's quick pace created a harmony with his heartbeat and try as he might, he couldn't ignore it. He could hear him pant right next to him, breaking the constant whir of the treadmill. Draco redoubled his efforts, pushing for more challenging positions to keep his focus on himself but Potter's presence filled the room and pushed insistently at the edges of Draco's awareness. By the time Draco laid down in savasana, he was more off-balance than when he had started.

He heard Potter slow down and eventually step off the treadmill, presumably to do some stretching.

"Potter," he called quietly before even opening his eyes.

"Mh?"

"Do you have an answer?" he asked softly, the crash of rain and wind right outside filling the silence between them.

He opened his eyes when Potter didn't answer, tilting his head back to look at him. "Have you thought about what you need from me?"

Potter finally looked at him, meeting his eyes with something that wasn't hatred. Whatever it was, though, it burned just as hot, threatening to consume Draco if he got to close.

"I have."

"And?"

"I want you to understand."

And to be fair, Draco wasn't confident he did.

"I don't think you understand what is at stake and I need to _make_ you, so I can be sure of your motivation."

Draco nodded, "What's the plan?"

Potter sat down on the floor and Summoned a bottle of water to drink. "We're starting with the library."

They didn't. Only because the hotel staff insisted and Granger used words such as 'denser than a garden gnome' when Potter mentioned wanting to go out in the middle of a monsoon.

Instead, Potter sat him down in the foyer and slowly retraced his lineage until Draco could repeat it back to him. It was like being eight again, sitting in the drawing room at Malfoy Manor, following with his fingers the branches of the Black family tree until it intersected with the Malfoys and then back up again the other side. As he looked at Potter, though, there was a different kind of urgency in his eyes when he guided Draco through generations of Potters, back before their name was anglicised to sound more respectable.

"Poddar," Draco repeated, the softer syllables falling easily from his lips. He glanced at the small table between them and the papers where the family tree was growing, each name etched in Draco's tidy calligraphy with blank spaces where Potter's heraldic research had failed him.

"Are any of these people still alive?" he asked, pointing at the lower collateral branches.

Potter shook his head, "I found most of them in a cemetery in Amritsar. They died fighting for England. As far as I know the last remaining relatives died in '46 during the unrest between Muslims and Sikhs. My great-grandfather had already moved to England for a while by then, lost a brother in World War I and then stayed, bringing his wife over."

Draco nodded along, that's why the Potters weren't among the Sacred Twenty-Eight despite being undeniably of a pure-blood line; they weren't English enough. No, that wasn't it. The Black family was notoriously French in ancestry; the Potters weren't white enough to be considered peers by the rest of high society.

"Why are you telling me all of this?"

"Because this is the story of countless people, not just mine, Malfoy." Potter tapped the paper in front of him. "I need you to understand how deep and pervasive England's disruption has been so that you know to take your shoes off when you come into my house."

"Do you really think I don't know that? I've seen it, I've been living alongside poverty and hunger for years." Draco frowned, Potter knew this already, "I reconstructed a child's lungs just last month, Potter."

Potter shook his head, "That is all temporary. I'm talking about the wiping away of culture in the name of conformity, the stunted growth of a people in the name of control. The separation, the instigation of conflict. That is what England left behind. That is what it still stands for, despite whatever mask of respectability and honour it presents."

Draco heard it ringing clear. "This is what _I_ stand for is what you mean."

"Don't you?" Potter's eyes fell to his left arm, the coils of the snake visible where he'd rested it on the table.

"Do I?" Draco turned his arm so Potter could see the entire image, the faded skull and vibrant scales of the snake were traversed by a wooden staff, filling the empty spaces between the coils of the snake. It was a simple detail, easily overlooked by one who knew of the Dark Mark, but it turned the vile brand into a rod of Asclepius. Potter's eyes flicked between his face and his arm, putting the pieces together.

"I'm doing my best, Potter," he whispered, "But I can't change the past any more than you can. I can only go forward and do better, be better."

"You're still running away from England and your… our past."

"I couldn't do what I needed in England, Potter. I had to go somewhere I would be allowed to learn and listen. It's time for you and Granger and Weasley to take the reins of power in England and steer it in the right direction. My place is outside of it now. I've had my chance and I blew it."

"That's too easy." Potter shook his head, "You don't get to step aside and let someone else deal with the mess. You have to listen and learn and then _act,_ Malfoy, you need to learn how to fix your own mess. This is why we're here."

"Are you going to be the one to teach me?" Draco asked, trying to keep his scepticism out of his voice.

"Merlin help me, I will."

The flicker of hope for something besides work that sparked in Draco's chest in that moment was quickly squashed the following morning.

The island had been hit with a tidal bore of 16 feet that badly damaged the docks and some of the buildings, among which was the field hospital, not sturdy enough to withstand the combined attack of the sea and the storm.

As they surveyed the damage Draco couldn't help but turn to Healer Gupta.

"Is this going to be a regular occurrence?" he asked.

She shrugged noncommittally before exchanging a few words with Miss Rana and one of the elders.

"The tidal bore always does some damage when it gets this high, but not always to this extent. People have learnt how to prepare for the monsoon so the storm doesn't take them by surprise anymore, but the surge in water and air energy can affect the magic. The storm and the tide are a kind of power to be harnessed or avoided but their magic isn’t controlled enough to do either. The wild energy inside them calls to the wide energy outside," Miss Rana explained.

"How do you suggest we proceed?" he asked, picking leaves out of his once sterile equipment. There were some broken windows and the roof was bent where a tree had fallen on it, but the barebone medical tools he had seemed undamaged, if wet.

"Let the people rebuild their hospital and help me teach them how to protect themselves," Healer Gupta replied simply.

Draco wasn't sure how much help he could be in either department, so he followed Healer Gupta's lead in the hopes of at least learning some new techniques to employ. He kept an eye on Granger, discussing a plan with Professor Chambers to leverage whatever influence she might have for some more resources to try and avoid the incident repeating itself.

He watched as Healer Gupta activated the tattoos on a woman's hand, guiding her through the manipulation of a small Summoned storm. At the same time, her trainees were working through the rebalancing of people's cores, alternating the use of their wands and the intricate tattoos that covered their hands and arms. There, Draco could make himself at least marginally useful. Miss Rana remained at his side, seamlessly mediating his conversation with the locals and gently teasing him when he struggled to recreate with just his wand the hybrid process the Bengali Healers employed.

What he didn't expect was Potter shedding his kurta in favour of a tank top to help mop up water, shovel mud and dispose of broken tree branches. The exposed arms did nothing to help Draco's concentration on the task at hand and Miss Rana had to repeat herself more than once, much to Draco's chagrin, and her knowing smile wiped away any hope he had that she might be oblivious of where his attention was exactly.

After accidentally burning his hands on a careless power balancing procedure, Draco followed Healer Gupta out of the village and past the treeline, leaving the trainees under the supervision of Miss Rana to finish the job.

"You cannot balance if you're not balanced yourself."

Draco grimaced at the gentle reprimand. He wasn't focused and he knew exactly why. "I'm sorry, Sāhiba."

"I need you balanced, not sorry," Healer Gupta replied with a teasing smile. "Let's fix you."

It was embarrassing to be reprimanded like a first year trainee but Draco supposed he deserved it for letting Potter's wide shoulders distract him to the point of injury. He should have known better than to let a pair of flexing biceps pull his focus.

"Sit."

She pointed at a tree stump and Draco flopped down with a sigh. He could have fixed his hands with a quick charm but the pain reminded him to pay attention to what he was doing.

"We're going to meditate and you will put your distractions away," Healer Gupta instructed.

The way the consonants rounded on her tongue already sent Draco back into his body. He sat straighter and closed his eyes. She clapped once and the light ringing sound of a bell resonated. The vibration resonated in Draco's ribcage much deeper than such a soft sound had any right to. The second ring started resonating with Draco's core, the wash of magic on his skin was warm and comfortable as it settled in a grounding weight. It pulled at his core like a harp string until his breath followed.

He let out a slow breath and as his magic expanded to soothe the burn in his palms, he stopped trying to deny Potter was ultimately right about his motivations. He'd been running away and trying to make himself feel better without facing the reality of the effect of his actions. Merlin, he hated to be wrong. Especially when Potter was the one who was right.

When he opened his eyes again Healer Gupta was standing over him with an inquisitive smile on her face.

"Better, Sādā sāpa?" she asked with a hint of teasing in her dark eyes.

"Thank you for your patience, Sāhiba," he replied, bringing his hands to his chest and bowing his head to her.

"Come help, Healer Malfoy, there is much to do."

* * *

Harry still wasn't sure what in the world possessed him to sit Malfoy down and bare himself in front of him. Maybe Hermione was getting to him with the idea that he might be worth the effort, maybe the ferret _was_ teachable. He was infuriating, trying to dodge his responsibility, but in the end, Malfoy was giving Harry the chance to make him understand the damage he'd caused in a very personal manner and Harry wasn't going to pass on the opportunity to get his pain recognised by the one who caused it.

He still chuckled to himself when the git blasted himself in the face. If he was going to spend the morning knee-deep in mud, he was going to take any childish joy he was afforded by the universe.

The day of work was long and gruelling. By the time they cleaned up the hospital, reconstructed the roof and moved on to houses and village streets to clean, Harry's tank top was soaked with sweat. The humidity in the air did nothing to lessen the heat. His arms ached and he was only too happy to walk into the river with the other youths to clean off the mud and sweat before sitting down for a simple and light lunch, still dripping wet but refreshed.

Malfoy's hands were white and unmarred again, as if they hadn't been burned red just a few hours prior, but when he met Harry's gaze, they both knew he'd looked like an idiot and there was no way to hide the blush on his cheeks. No amount of tan could save him from the way he turned red and avoided Harry's eyes in favour of discussing the day's work with Hermione and Healer Gupta.

They all stumbled back to the boat that night, aware that there was still a lot of work to be done and they had too few hands to do it… especially if someone blasted their own off into next week. He had a plan for the evening, though, and it involved showering first. But they had a little time off since Hermione and Professor Chambers were going to dinner with the Bengali Minister of Education to plan for the arrival of Thai gurus to restore the gurukul, and Harry managed to convince her he'd done enough standing around and looking pretty in the name of international relations.

"How about skipping the restaurant and taking a walk around the city?" he asked Malfoy as soon as Hermione disappeared with the nice professor.

"How do you still have the energy?"

"I didn't try to off myself today, I suppose that must have saved me a lot of effort," Harry replied, unable to pass on the chance to make fun of him.

"Screw you, Potter."

Harry raised his hands in a placating manner and smiled. "Seriously, though, I want to show you a place and you've barely been anywhere that isn't the hotel and the village."

"I've seen the embassy," Malfoy argued.

"Only because they wouldn't let you land right in the hotel foyer."

"Fine. But you better feed me at some point."

Harry grinned and nodded. "Meet me back here at eight."

Harry was tempted to linger in the shower; the water pressure was perfect and the scent of the body wash divine, but he had a plan for the evening. He scrubbed himself down, paying attention to get the mud out from under his nails and between his toes. He wrapped a towel around his waist, wiped the condensation from the mirror, and looked at the image critically. He rubbed his cheek, feeling the scrape of stubble under his fingers. It could stay. It was not like Malfoy would care if he was clean-shaven or not. He wasn't going to kiss the git so he had no stand to complain. He ran a hand through his wet hair and decided his curls could pass as artfully tousled if one were to argue about it, which Harry fully expected to be put in the position to.

He padded out of the bathroom and picked a pair of clean briefs before looking at the clothes options he had. He went for some light wash jeans and a slate grey linen kurta. He didn't bother to do up the buttons all the way; they weren't going anywhere formal anyway.

He was somewhat surprised to find Malfoy actually waiting for him in the foyer, looking clean and put together. For all intents and purposes, he was the poster image for a distinguished western tourist… Which he was, at least for tonight.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going or should I treat this as a kidnapping?" he asked as soon as he spotted Harry coming towards him.

"You'll find out soon enough," Harry replied, too delighted to have such an easy way to get on his nerves.

"I'll have you know my disappearance could cause a diplomatic incident and Granger would not be happy about that," he complained, but he still followed Harry out.

He was quiet as they crossed the road and made their way through the busy streets, still wet from the storm but just as busy as before it came sweeping through the city. Malfoy's silence didn't last long. They barely made it to the park limits before he asked again.

"Seriously, Potter, where are you taking me?"

"Not much further, Malfoy, don't worry I'm not going to kill you. You were doing a remarkable job of that yourself today," Harry replied, checking the map to make sure they were going in the right direction.

He heard Malfoy's gasp when they turned and there it was. The Shaheed Minar, white against the darkening sky, cutting the darkening sunset in two, bright thanks to the new lighting.

"You know, pushing me off the edge of a tall building is not that imaginative…" Malfoy mentioned as they walked across the Brigades grounds to reach the base of the column.

"We can't go up," Harry mentioned. "It's been restricted since a guy jumped off." It was an extremely crass way of putting it but it was satisfying to see Malfoy's cheeks tinge with shame at the indelicate remark. "Do you know what this is?" he asked.

"A phallic symbol comparable to the Nelson column and the Washington monument?" he proposed.

"Can you take this seriously for half a second?" Harry bit back, crossing his arms.

"Sorry." He raised his hands in surrender. "I don't, but I suspect you're about to tell me."

"It's called the Shaheed Minar. It was erected at the start of the nineteenth century to celebrate some British company officer."

Malfoy glanced at the imposing column for a long moment. Harry gave him time to work out his thoughts.

"Why did you take me to a colonial monument?" he asked eventually.

"Between the sixties and the seventies, it was rededicated. You didn't ask me what Shaheed Minar means."

Malfoy tore his eyes away from the domed top and looked back at Harry's face, the question clear on his face.

"The Martyr’s Monument," Harry said. "Kolkata clawed back a piece of history so it would belong to Bengal instead of England. It now celebrates the men who defended its people and gave their lives so they could be free from England." It almost choked Harry up to think of people trying to rebuild an identity from the ashes of war and generations of foreign rule enforcing outside standards, building Britain halfway across the world. And then from the fire they tried to bring back the colours to all those white buildings, all those places named Victoria now a grotesque joke.

"If we could go up you would be able to see the entire city from there. It used to be the eye of Britain on its subjects and now it's the men who freed her standing tall in its centre." Harry looked up at the top quietly, there was something pulling at his heart as he stood under it. He was the exact same as this monument. England had claimed him as its own, making his face a symbol for something Harry wasn't sure he could represent. He never wanted to stand for anything bigger than himself and his family. But without a real family or a definite sense of self, it had been all too easy for other people to build him up into a figurehead. Could he be rededicated too? Find his true meaning now that Voldemort and the war had been gone for a decade?

He shook his head with a sigh and dropped his eyes, coming back to earth. He caught Malfoy watching him with a quiet intensity and averted his eyes, as if afraid the man could read those thoughts if he let him look into his eyes too long. He didn't think too hard about Malfoy suddenly going quiet after refusing to shut up for a single second the entire way there.

"Hungry?" he asked, desperate to break the tension he could feel building between them. Harry knew that if he left him to it, Malfoy would manage to figure out everything going on in his mind and he wasn't ready to be that vulnerable with him. Or with anyone else for that matter.

"Famished," Malfoy replied, quick to follow him when he took the path back to the street.

"You're not going to make me eat street fish, are you?" Malfoy asked, eyeing the carts suspiciously.

"I'm vegetarian. I'm not going to make you eat fish at all," Harry reminded him. "And as much as I'd like to kill you sometimes, street food during monsoons would be an unusually convoluted way to go about it." He smiled at the familiarity of throwing barbs at each other. It was light and with little heat behind them, a comfortable game Harry had forgotten how much he enjoyed.

"I've learnt not to underestimate you, Potter. You're a devious shit with the face of a Gryffindor." Malfoy almost sounded impressed when he said it, and Harry knew to take it as the roundabout compliment it was meant as.

"I nearly got sorted in Slytherin, you know?" he mentioned as they walked close enough for their elbows to nearly brush against each other.

"I thought it was a bullshit rumour!"

Harry grinned at the wide-eyed expression on Malfoy's face. "God's honest truth."

"How did you end up in Gryffindor instead?"

"Asked the sorting hat to put me anywhere but Slytherin." Harry shrugged.

"Why?"

"Didn't want to be associated with a certain snot-nosed, tiny blond arsehole I'd met a week prior." Harry grinned to himself.

"How dare you?!"

Harry laughed at the utter outrage on Malfoy's face at the idea that Harry would bend his entire life to avoid him.

"I probably deserved it," he eventually admitted. "I didn't exactly put my best foot forward when we first met… wait, a week prior? We'd just met outside the Great Hall."

Harry shook his head. "You probably don't even remember this but we met in Madam Malkin's shop and you weren't the image of pleasantness there either," he informed him.

Draco covered his mouth with a hand as he gasped and struggled to remember. "I have absolutely no recollection of it happening." He shook his head. "But I don't struggle to believe you. Merlin's balls. I blew two separate chances of being your friend and I can't even remember the first."

"It's not like you put in much effort in the following seven years," Harry pointed out mildly.

"Excuse you! I put in a lot of effort to keep your attention and it was extremely effective, you little stalker."

Harry hummed, amused. "Sure, lots of positive attention it got you, didn't it?"

"Attention is attention, Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes at Malfoy's upturned nose and turned into the alley his feet brought him back to, almost without thinking, until they stopped in front of the gurdwara and Harry could breathe more easily.

"Where are we?" Malfoy asked quietly, as if sensing there was something worthy of reverence in front of them.

"The historical Gurdwara Bara Sikh Sangat."

"You took me to a temple for dinner?" Malfoy asked, his eyes flicking between Harry's face and the temple door.

"You'll see. Take off your shoes, socks too," he instructed.

Malfoy didn't argue, bending down to remove his footwear just as readily as Harry did, but the way his toes curled at the contact with the cold floor betrayed his discomfort.

"Here," Harry offered him a scarf.

Malfoy stared at him with a blank expression.

"You need to cover your head," he elaborated.

"Oh, right." He fumbled with the light cotton until Harry finished tying his own head covering and took pity on him. Harry knew he shouldn't be finding Malfoy cute, but he was helpless and utterly lost and Harry was honestly having a good time watching him flail but try nonetheless.

He wordlessly gestured for him to follow as he headed to the kitchen.

"I know I said I would do whatever you needed from me, Potter, but I seriously hoped it would involve food."

"Can't you shut up and trust me for once?" Harry chuckled, pushing the door open to the big room, already filled with people stirring huge cauldrons of curry and lining the roti station.

Harry didn't have to prompt Malfoy to sit down next to him and soon enough there were small balls of dough in front of them to roll out. As the minutes ticked by, Harry started spotting known faces and conversation started flowing around them, a mix of Bengali and English, some Hindi thrown in for Harry's benefit. Malfoy's rotis didn't get any less wonky or misshapen with the passing time. Enough to get him booted to the cooking side of the operation. Harry's eyebrows raised when he saw the way he gingerly handled the metal tool to flip rotis, he wasn't at all confident Malfoy could flip them back on the fire, let alone in the waiting blankets to be carried out, so he decided to collect his white man and head out to explain a few things after giving him the practical experience.

They took a seat on the floor in the rapidly filling langar room.

"This is part of Sikh practise. In every temple, there is a communal kitchen that serves simple food to whoever comes in. Anyone can help prepare it and we all eat together as equals. Same food, same table, same seats, no questions asked," he explained as the metal trays were brought out.

Harry noticed Malfoy's eyes dropping to his forearm and Harry knew he understood how comforting anonymity and lack of judgement could be; in a diametrically opposed way they reached the same understanding. But there was more.

"My family is Punjabi. The main branch was Sikh for generations, until they emigrated to England and had to choose between being themselves and being respected as individuals. I don't know how many Potters grew up under the shadow of the golden temple of Amritsar, and then English prejudice pushed them to take off their turbans and cut their beards.” He trailed a finger along the rough surface of the table. “It doesn’t really matter, though, either way I would never have gotten the chance to participate in langar with my father."

"Because we picked another category to deem unworthy," Malfoy concluded for him. He didn't meet Harry's eyes, staring in the depth of the green curry in his plate instead.

There were no more words exchanged between them until they finished eating and left the temple. There was nothing Malfoy could offer and Harry was satisfied he was starting to understand. When they gave back the scarves and slipped their shoes back on, Harry knew that something had passed between them, that the effort of making himself seen by Malfoy was paying off. In the end, Hermione might have been right again, it looked like there was something salvageable in the man, after all.

Harry's eyes kept wandering towards Malfoy's exposed forearm, the dark lines of the tattoo shifting under the light of street lamps. The staff cutting through the middle of the dark mark kept interrogating Harry on his judgement. Malfoy wasn't trying to hide who he'd been, but he was making a vow to be something different, and for a moment Harry wondered if he could be the serpent in the hand of Asclepius.

Before he knew it, they were back at the hotel, in the enclosed space of the lift, rocketing up to their floor, still quietly existing next to each other, for once not pitted against each other.

"Potter—" Malfoy called him when they got off, but when Harry turned around he hesitated. "Thank you."

Harry nodded. "You're welcome."

* * *

Once the Thai delegation arrived, under a dark sky full to bursting with rain, their work on the island lightened. Thanks to Healer Gupta's invaluable work righting the crooked growth of magic in the population, Draco found he and Griffith had much fewer accidents to fix. The outbursts of accidental magic were fewer and less violent now that the population was more grounded and learning to channel their energy.

Much as he would have liked to spend his time off watching Potter and Foster set up better protections for the village against the fury of the river, he thought his time would be better employed tagging along with Healer Gupta and Professor Chambers to see what he could pick up in the ways of Bengali magical practises. He sat with the children, watching as they carefully applied henna to their hands and arms, mimicking the pattern on their parents as they practised patience and precision needed to harness the wild energy that grew within them.

He wasn't left wanting for quality time with Potter. Much as the man had liked pretending Draco didn't exist for the first month of their stay, now he seemed to monopolise Draco's free time. They walked the length of Calcutta several times over, visiting pieces of painful history and celebrations of freedom, from the Victoria Memorial to the Dakshineswar Kali Temple. Several times Draco felt like he should have taken his shoes off and walked lightly in order not to disturb the ground he placed his feet on. He saw the same reverence written on Potter's face, but the fire of suppressed anger that lit up his eyes whenever they stood in front of undeniable traces of England's passage didn't disappear in the smoke of incense that clouded the temples they visited. Draco could feel Potter's longing closing his own throat when they rested near the riverbank, watching the sun dip down and turn the sky into fire.

In those quiet moments, Draco looked at him, the dying sun turning his profile into cut bronze, and saw the fire that never left his green eyes. He'd imagined Potter would retire to a life of leisure after the war. He'd seemed the type to need to settle down, process his trauma and get a family, go back to a peaceful home. But he'd miscalculated. The fight wasn't done for Potter, and there was no home for him in England, just like there was no home for Draco there, not anymore.

They did end up getting street food, because Potter was like that. Draco ran a few diagnostics before he allowed either of them to eat anything out of a cart, but he had to admit the panipuris were indeed delicious, almost worth getting caught halfway across the city when another storm set in. Umbrella Charms were completely useless. They Apparated to the closest spot and ran the rest of the way, the warm rain sluicing down their faces as they ran full pelt against the rising wind laughing with the roaring of the approaching storm. They both looked like drowned rats when they finally made it back to the hotel and the receptionist offered to arrange a restorative soak at the spa to make sure they didn't catch their death. Still completely out of breath and full of unexplainable energy, as if keyed into the storm building right outside, Draco could only nod, knowing Potter was doing the same behind him.

They left their clothes in a sad wet pile in the corner of the changing rooms and thanked Merlin for the warm robes. The oversized tub was steaming hot, and the room smelled of citrus, sandalwood and cardamom. The sweet scent of plumeria and flowers curled up from the water, dotted with blooms. Draco didn't waste any time before shedding his robe and lowering himself in the water, shivering as it warmed him through. He leaned back against the side and closed his eyes, breathing in the heady scents surrounding him.

"Come on, Potter, don't make me beg, the water is wonderful," he murmured, listening for Potter's breath, still hesitating at the door. "I promise I won't peek."

He only opened his eyes when he heard the quiet splash of water, indicating Potter had joined him in the water. Only then he realised he hadn't even thought of bringing along his wand. The last time he'd been alone with Potter in a bathroom he almost died. This was much more pleasant. Whatever was growing between them almost felt like friendship, but Draco didn't want to push his luck. Potter had barely started to tolerate him.

"Why do you have an egg tattooed on your back?" Potter asked eventually.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Draco replied with a small grin. Some things never got old, trying to get on Potter's nerves was, despite everything, still his favourite sport.

The arrival of their last week in Calcutta took Draco completely by surprise. He'd grown too comfortable with the luxury of the hotel and Potter's company. He couldn't believe it was already time to say goodbye to Healer Gupta and Miss Rana. They were going to the inauguration of the new gurukul. Granger would oversee the signing of the agreement on the lowering of isolating measures on the island community after a year of teaching, and then they would each be off on their way, the negotiation on the wider state schooling programme to continue, after Granger's return to England, between local activists and their own government.

* * *

The day of the opening turned into a formal occasion. Granger informed them that some Bengali high officials were going to be present, as well as the British Minister of Foreign affairs, while the elder would hold the inaugural speech. That put Draco in a very awkward position, because he had packed zero formal clothing options and he sure wasn't going to attend a party with foreign dignitaries in work clothes.

Given the restricted time limit and his language challenges, he had very little options, which brought him to knocking on Potter's door.

"Potter, help!" he begged.

As he ran a hand down his chest, feeling the light silk under his palm, he didn't regret letting Potter take the wheel and bring him to buy a sherwani. It fit him perfectly, and the pale blue-grey complimented him, bringing out his eyes. At some point in the last decade, Potter had acquired some taste, apparently. He did up the buttons in the front, appreciating the way it closed up to his neck. He fixed a pocket square and brushed his finger along the delicate stitching of the embroidered trees in deep blue over his left shoulder.

He checked himself out in the mirror, the dark trousers and light sherwani, his hair perfectly styled, if maybe growing a little long. He idly thought that Blaise would approve of him finally attending a reception with foreign dignitaries and high officials, just like he'd wanted for the two of them. Too bad he wasn't there to see it.

The gurukul was gorgeous in its simplicity, the domed roof and many arched windows made it elegant and the red bricks made that elegance welcoming to scholars looking for a home to learn and grow in. There were torches all around, giving a warm glow to every room, and somehow the men and women dressed for a formal occasion didn't seem out of place.

Granger stood out in her cream anarkali suit, the golden details drawing out the amber hues of her skin. As he scanned the room, he spotted Miss Rana, once again in green, with silver brooches pinned to her hijab and her jacket, and Healer Gupta, standing tall among a group of strangers, with her hair gathered in a relaxed updo instead of her usual stern plait. And then his eyes fell on Potter, looking delectable in a black ensemble with gold detail, doing his best not to engage in any inane conversation no doubt going on in the room.

From the moment he stepped into the room, Miss Rana didn't leave his side for a moment, as dignitary after dignitary came to congratulate him on the job, forcing him to deflect any merit towards Healer Gupta, the one who actually did the work that would have long-lasting impact on the health and wellbeing of the local magical community by grounding their magic and balancing the energies in their bodies.

"I can't believe in a week I'll have to get used to not having you by my side, Miss Rana," Draco mentioned with a half smile.

"I'm sure you'll survive just fine, Sādā Sāpa," she replied with that mild teasing tone that made Draco miss Pansy dearly.

"I'm going to miss your conversation," he told her, looking down at the half glass of champagne he was holding. This was it, closing another successful mission, leaving the new friends behind to move on to the next disaster zone.

"I don't know if you have them in the west, but here we keep in contact through this ancient practice called writing letters," she mentioned. "You might want to try; I'm sure Healer Gupta would be happy to teach you this practice as well."

Draco laughed. "I will try asking."

Departing the following morning was surprisingly emotional. Griffith in particular insisted on thanking him for the guidance in the past few months and asked for Draco to put in a good word for him with Wizards Outside Nations.

"You'll have to get a lot better at charms, Griffith, and not get lazy with the fancy equipment you have in London," Draco teased him gently.

"I will practise more, Healer Malfoy," he promised, shaking his hand again.

Granger took him aside while everyone else exchanged goodbyes and small parting gifts.

"Thank you, Malfoy, you've done remarkable work these past months and I couldn't have brought this mission home without you."

Draco shook his head. "I should be thanking you, Granger, for bringing me along. Trust me when I say I got more than I gave."

She gave him a small smile. "Where are you off to now?"

Draco glanced at the small group, gathered in the embassy foyer, exactly where they'd met three months prior, each of them so different from when they started.

"Trevor is in Hawaii, dealing with the fallout of a dragon-induced volcanic explosion, I'm going to catch up with him there, and then wherever the next disaster strikes. You know how I operate these days."

She nodded. "Good luck, then."

"Same to you, Granger. Say hi to Blaise for me when you get back to England."

"You know you could write to him yourself, right? International post does work."

Draco shrugged with an artfully indifferent expression. "Wouldn't want him to get a big head."

Granger chuckled, "You're such an arse…"


	7. Chapter 7

**PART TWO**

Keeping track of seasons while frequently changing hemispheres was a fine art that Draco had yet to perfect. Having to date his letters to Pansy and Blaise helped with keeping track of the calendar when they moved from the hot Hawaiian summer to the cold of the Falklands to dig up old cursed artefacts from the war that were starting to reactivate for unknown and ultimately, at least as far as Draco and his colleagues were concerned, irrelevant reasons.

Finding Bill Weasley there was a surprise, albeit a pleasant one.

"I thought you worked for Gringotts," Draco commented, still baffled by the warm greeting the man reserved for him.

"Your information is more than a bit out of date. I quit almost six years ago and put together my own firm," Weasley told him. "I couldn't deal with Charlie's silent treatment after the dragon thing came out and I wanted to be a bit more flexible about which jobs I took."

"And who's paying you to be here?" Draco asked as they set up camp, doubling the wards around key structures.

"I am. This is my pro bono for the year, another thing I couldn't really do while working for the bank."

"Good for you, Weasley, I guess congratulations would be a tad late but…"

"Appreciated all the same." Bill smiled at him with a touch of cordial amusement that Draco was not used to receiving from a Weasley.

Despite bringing their best resources and the sharing of half a celebratory drink for good luck, the mission in the Falkland Islands ended up being more complicated than they predicted. Even under Weasley's guidance it took months to clear the ground and the coast from poisoning influences, and to contain the curses they couldn't lift altogether.

It was nearing Christmas when Draco got back to France to his warm home and a thick envelope from Pansy, full of the transcribed old scrolls he hadn't dared hope she could track down.

It might have been Pansy's excellent research results, maybe some melancholy that came with the cold winter on the Mediterranean, maybe Draco was just getting old, but he let her and Blaise talk him into going back to London for New Year's Eve. From there, getting dragged to a Ministry party was a short stop.

Blaise insisted on getting him a new set of formal robes and Draco had to admit the feel of silk and soft wool against his skin felt like coming home. His fingers still remembered how to deftly close the tiny buttons on each sleeve and thread cufflinks through the holes of his shirt sleeve peeking out of his dark robe. Every time he shifted, the light caught on the discreet embroidery, bringing out the green tones from the almost-black fabric. He closed the clasps at the waist and adjusted the lapels, smoothing it down on his chest. He almost looked like his old self. He almost looked like his father, with his same aristocratic nose and thin lips, his hair growing long, well past his shoulders now, a man owning high society. But he was just a guest for a night.

Six months apart hadn't prepared him to see Potter again in the least. His hair was longer, and he wasn't clean-shaven anymore, undoubtedly pushing department regulation with the beard he was growing, but it suited him, enhancing his strong jaw instead of making it disappear. He looked refined in the red gala uniform, the gold buttons and the collar patches glinting in the light of the candles. He stood… well, not exactly tall between Weasley and Granger, but straight. He filled his frame instead of trying to disappear by hunching his shoulders and curving his spine, and Draco couldn't help but think he looked like he'd found his place.

Draco should have known better than to let himself get slightly buzzed on champagne. If he'd kept his guard up, it wouldn't have been so easy for Granger and Blaise to ambush him as the party got in full swing after midnight.

"You got me to London only to make it easier to corner me and get me on board with another mission for you, Granger, uh?" he surmised after listening to the two of them lay out the details of the next trip.

"Pretty much," Blaise replied with an unapologetic shrug.

"You're not supposed to use your powers for evil against your fellow Slytherins," Draco put up a token resistance before turning to Granger. "Destination Mumbai. I assume Potter's going to be coming along too?"

Granger nodded.

"Is he going to be as pleasantly surprised by my presence as last time?" he asked.

"I'm sure I won't."

Draco turned around, almost spilling his half-drunk flute of champagne at the sound of Potter's voice.

"I'd be more surprised by your absence, to be entirely honest."

"I'm flattered, but…"

"The story has been making the rounds ever since Granger came back," Blaise told him.

"So I've heard, which begs the question why are you here asking me to come along for a second trip." Draco turned to Granger "I'm sure you have Healers lining up at your door to be associated with your pet project. And they can't be all entirely inept, Griffith himself was halfway decent when I left him."

"It's not a question of how, Malfoy, it's a question of why," Potter interjected. "It's the new fashionable thing to do. We need someone committed who isn't going to baulk when things go wrong, who's going to know when to tread lightly."

"You're suddenly confident of my wholly noble intentions?" He raised a sceptical eyebrow at Potter before turning to Granger again. "Just admit you were missing my gorgeous face and wanted me along to have something pretty to look at."

Granger snorted, "Sadly I like my men naturally redheaded, pasty white and married to me. I want you purely for your skills, Malfoy."

"I feel so objectified right now," Draco sighed. "But I reckon you can live without my input. I did nothing more than mend some minor injuries, anyone can do that."

"You grew a pair of lungs on day one," Potter interjected as Granger stepped up again.

"From how Bill tells it you're quite the accomplished curse-breaker."

Draco felt his cheek heat up and he tried pointlessly to hide it behind the flute of champagne, draining the last of it. "He said that, hasn't he? Well, it might be stretching the truth a bit, but I suppose I could in a pinch. It's not my expertise."

The silence stretched between the group broken only by the muffled sound of strings coming in from the main hall.

"Is that a very roundabout way to say you're on the team?" Potter asked eventually.

"Sure, Potter," Draco sighed with a shake of his head, throwing his free hand up. "Let's go to Mumbai. When are we supposed to leave again?" he asked Granger.

"Two weeks," she replied with a pleased grin.

"I liked you better when you gave me two months to prepare," he grumbled, wandering off in search of more bubbly so he could forget the stupid decisions he just got talked into.


	8. Chapter 8

The hot air hit Harry like a wall as soon as he stopped spinning and dropped the Portkey on the rough tile floor. There had to be a better way to travel. They went from the below zero temperature of London to the hot day of Mumbai; the rotten smell of the Thames was already a memory as he breathed in the salt of the ocean. Over the grumbling of the rest of the party, he could hear the crashing of waves below them. Several people were already holding onto the railings around the light, others were looking out the windows to see the coast in the distance.

"The boat is already coming to get us!" someone pointed at the sizable speed boat heading towards the lighthouse.

Harry did a quick headcount and then turned to Hermione. "Where's Malfoy?"

"He's at the hotel waiting for us." She was still getting her feet under her after the jump.

"Why does he never travel with us?"

"You know he doesn't collaborate with the British government. He's here at the pleasure of the Maharashtrian administration," Hermione reminded him. "Besides, you won't be wanting time to pester him, we're scheduled to be here until the monsoon."

Harry hummed and helped her get rid of her scarf and coat, shoving them unceremoniously into her pouch, still envious of the ease she had around Extension Charms, then he headed out to the dock with the rest of the delegation. Foster caught up to him as soon as they stepped out into the late afternoon sun.

"Potter, am I happy to see you again. Ready to wrangle this bunch of excitable bureaucrats?" she asked with a smile that stank of dread.

"Not even a little bit," he replied just as jovially. At least, save for Professor Chambers, the entire old team was present, which meant at least four people he didn't have to worry about. Three and a half. He wasn't that sure about Griffith.

He leaned against the railing once they all loaded onto the boat and closed his eyes to enjoy the sweet wind on his face and the spray of salty water on his lips. For a moment, before they docked in Mumbai proper, Harry had no responsibilities, and he could fully enjoy the exhilaration of being back in his home country. It still wasn't Punjab, but maybe, between then and June, he could find a day or two to get off duty and fly out to Amritsar, see the Golden Temple, visit his family's graves…

He didn't realise immediately where they'd docked. He was too busy keeping track of every member of their enlarged delegation and trying to spot the consulate employee meant to come and welcome them to pay too much attention to the architecture. It dawned on him when a man with a camera asked if they wanted a polaroid of them walking through the gate.

The gate.

He looked up and saw the towering arches of the Gateway of India. A cold shiver ran down his spine as his eyes followed the cut stone up to the plaque. 

_Their imperial majesties_

He couldn't avert his eyes from the magnificent architecture, the open doorway calling him closer to home, but there was still the name of foreign monarchs smiling from above as they stepped into the welcoming shadow of the arches and headed towards the city.

Harry felt the shadow of King George and Queen Mary as he waited for every last delegate to pile into a ratty car that had no business holding that many people. Luckily the Muggles filling the streets had no interest in hanging around to count how many British tourists were climbing in. He bent his head and slid onto the magically enlarged space, sparing one last glance towards the gate. From this side, he could almost imagine it being built to celebrate the bustling economy and flourishing Indian culture instead of the visit of a faraway and disinterested sovereign.

As they whizzed through the streets, he kept his eyes fixed outside the window, tuning out the excited chatter. Soon enough, after they left the docks, past the apartment blocks, past the stadium and a few parks, the skyline was taken over by skyscrapers and sleek glass and metal. The palm trees lining the wide roads and the peaks of domed spires he could glean here and there were enough to remind him he was as far from London as he could get.

Harry thought he was prepared this time around. Hermione hadn't kept anything from him, she'd been upfront about the members of the team, the accommodation at the Four Seasons, the hike it would take to reach the isolated enclave, and the fact that she would spend a lot of time off negotiating and lobbying with local government to devise a better tracking system for magical children, re-hauling the system in place for the past three centuries.

He did not expect his suite to have a little door next to the closet, or Malfoy's head to come poking out of that door not even an hour after he settled in.

"Oh, hello, Potter."

"What the hell are you doing in my room?"

"It seems there was a bit of a mix-up. I imagine the communicating rooms were meant for you and Granger." He waved a hand in the general direction of the room Hermione was currently residing in. "Security reasons."

"And how did it end up occupied by you instead?"

"I'm going to take a wild guess and say they assumed I was the British high official they were waiting for." Malfoy sat down at the breakfast table next to the window without being invited. "On account of my general distinguished and elegant demeanour, my whiteness and my unmistakable Britishness."

"I see you're in a great hurry to go correct their misconception." Harry crossed his arms and looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Granger said she got the better view out of the deal and she's happy to give up the complimentary breakfast for two attached to the room. As long as you don't murder me in my sleep, I'm good," he replied.

"You're not making it very easy on me," Harry commented. Finally, Malfoy took his eyes off the view and looked at him with an amused glint in his eyes and the tiniest hint of a smile. He’d cut his hair since the last time Harry’d seen him. It was again short at the back, a utilitarian cut that didn’t sacrifice the length on top that made Harry wonder whether it was as soft as it looked.

"It's good to be back working with you, Potter, I missed this scintillating energy you bring to the table."

"Sod off, Malfoy."

Malfoy surprised him again by actually getting up and heading towards the discreet door connecting their suites. "I look forward to our breakfasts, Potter," he called before disappearing back into his room.

* * *

It didn't take long at all for things to go south. Draco got one good dinner because he pointedly ignored the existence of the majority of the new members of the British delegation. He got one good night, sharing half a glass of champagne with Potter, where he told him about Hawaii, and listened in turn to him detail the celebration of Parkash Utsav Dasveh Patshah he got to attend back in London with the Patils right before they left, and then all Draco's good mood and goodwill evaporated suddenly under the harsh light of day.

The day had started so well, too. This odd tentative truce with Potter had carried through their months apart and it felt fresh and hopeful, like there was a rope bridge thrown across what was previously an impassable canyon… or maybe only a door in a previously impenetrable wall. Draco had woken up early and did his morning yoga in his underwear in front of the window overlooking the city. His precious few minutes in savasana were interrupted by Potter's gentle knock on the door between their rooms.

"Come in," he called, pushing himself up and Summoning a robe, quickly tying it around his waist as Potter walked in with a covered tray.

"Breakfast?" he asked, raising it a little.

Draco nodded towards the tiny round table right next to the window and went to take a seat in one of the plush chairs next to it. Much as himself, Potter hadn't bothered dressing for breakfast. He was wearing soft-looking grey joggers and a t-shirt that probably fit him before he underwent considerable physical training. Draco's mouth was watering, and not just for the delicious smells coming from under the cloche.

"I wasn't sure what you wanted," Potter mentioned, lifting the cloche to reveal a varied array of foods. There were hash browns, bangers and a cup of steaming earl grey, along with toast, some odd-looking pancakes and fragrant coffee with several small containers of chutney. It wasn't hard to figure out how the tray split down the middle. Clearly, Potter had paid at least a little bit of attention last time they shared meals, enough to pick the parts of an English breakfast Draco favoured.

The perfectly crispy hash browns didn't keep Draco from eyeing the pancakes Potter was having, or the dips arranged on the table in front of him. He was unsubtle enough that Potter ended up offering him a taste, in the name of Draco's cultural education, of course.

"Here, try it with the mango chutney." Potter dipped a bit of pancake into one of the chutneys and held it out for Draco, looking at him expectantly.

Draco leaned over and carefully wrapped his lips around the bit of dough. It was light and fluffy, the chutney fresh and fruity, with a touch of mint that came through as he chewed thoughtfully. Potter brought his thumb to his mouth to lick a stray drop of chutney, watching him with a hint of anticipation that Draco didn't like. It took a moment for the chilis and cumin to hit and warm up his mouth, cutting through the freshness of the mango. Draco's eyes widened and so did Potter's smile.

"Well, that was interesting," he commented, chasing it with a bit of tea. The mint and spice reminded him of long days in the Maghreb, of couscous eaten around campfires. "How much do you know about the job ahead?" he asked, buttering a piece of toast.

"I know we're going to have to hike a bit to get there," Potter mentioned. "There is a small enclave on Gharapuri but the locals are taking care of it. Healer Gupta came by in December to set up operations and we're sending some of ours along for technical support. The rest of us with you and Griffith are going north to Sanjay Gandhi National Park. A considerable part of the untraced magical practitioners retreated into the caves and settled on one of the summits. It was warded off when detectable accidents started happening more frequently back in the mid-1850s."

Draco hummed, leaning back against the chair and sipping his tea. "Last known guru present?"

"Officially 1962, but Hermione thinks it must be later, judging by the size of the community and the pattern of 'unexplained phenomena' reported in the area by Muggles. The local Ministry of Magic is still trying to track down all the isolated enclaves and the old British records aren't necessarily reliable."

Potter lulled him into a false sense of security. The illusion of being a valued member of the operation, where his opinion would be valued and his expertise respected popped like a soap bubble on concrete as soon as they reached the summit and crossed into Unplottable land. Potter had been right to say it was much bigger than what they worked with before, which meant setting up operations in a smart way. As soon as he started giving directions on how to divide healing stations and where to set up the bit of hardware they had, he realised there were too many Brits for his authority to have any kind of weight.

"You heard Healer Malfoy," Griffith stepped in when the rest of the Healers refused to collaborate.

"Why is he in charge?" one had the gall to question.

Griffith didn't have the chance to reply because Potter squared up with the unfortunate bloke.

"Because Ambassador Granger decided it so; if you don't like it feel free to hike back to the city and take the complaint up with her, otherwise get to work." He looked at the gathered group of Healers, building experts, and assorted magical educators with a stern look. "Anyone else have any complaints that I should hear before we get a move on?"

A sweeping murmur of 'no Auror Potter' rose from the group right as the local leadership approached them and the translator stepped up to make introductions.

Despite the warm, sweet vindictive pleasure of seeing Potter cut down irritating British Healers, Draco's mood was ruined for the day. That little episode made it clear to him that for this operation to work he needed to not be the one in charge, which left only one viable option really. He needed Griffith to take the lead of the medical team. As green and under-trained as the guy was, he was the only one Draco could trust to come to him should he get in over his head, which Draco told him to do in no uncertain terms at lunch when he informed him of his decision. Griffith turned a pleasant shade of sage green as panic settled in when he realised Draco was dead serious about him leading operations.

"I'm not leaving, Griffith, I'm going to be a good yell away at any point, and I have complete confidence in your ability to handle things without me. I _was_ the one to train you last year."

"Yeah, for three months!" he argued in a choked whisper.

"You're going to be fine. You do want this operation to succeed, don't you?"

The man nodded uncertainly.

"Then this is the way. Trust my judgement if you don't trust your own."

After that, things progressed a lot more smoothly. Draco joined the local educators and met the woman who'd taken over as guru, trying to save as much of the traditional practises as she could. They had managed surprisingly well, creating a carefully balanced community. They doggedly continued to reconstruct that balance after each episode of wild accidental magic. They copied all the books they managed to save, rebuilt houses, took care of each other and kept going day after day.

After the first day, Draco joined the reconstruction team, working on securing the structural integrity of the mountainside, fixing the houses that were damaged in the latest accident, but soon enough he was directed to the restoration experts to recover the content of old manuscripts and from there shuffled to the education team where he finally settled. He checked in on Griffith once every day, on the hike to or from the community but, as predicted, he had things handled and Draco could relax and teach kids the grounding techniques he'd learnt from Healer Gupta, or sit and learn from the tiny ancient woman Granger had managed to get on board to revive Maharathi magical practises, buried under the sprawling prescriptive English conformism. He got a lot of henna stains on his clothes and fingers as he watched teenagers reapply the ritual designs on their arms as they faded.

Out of all the people involved in the issue, the one who still seemed unsatisfied by the arrangement was Potter.

He told him so explicitly when they went to visit the enclave on Gharapuri. They were on a speedboat flying over the waves towards the island when Potter brought it up apropos nothing.

"I don't like that Griffith is leading the Healers."

Draco turned to look at him with an expression of polite confusion. He saw no point in discussing it but the deep frown of Potter's eyebrows suggested the man was of a different opinion.

"I appreciate you defending my honour, Potter, but it's in the interest of the mission to prevent internal conflict," Draco pointed out, taking off his sunglasses. He slid them in the breast pocket of his linen shirt and sat down on the small bench, looking up at Potter.

"But you're the better Healer," he insisted.

"Yes, but Griffith is good enough for what he needs to do." Draco shrugged, amused by Potter's frustration. It was surreal to see him this torn up about it.

"Good enough isn't enough, we need to give them the best chance, and that's you."

Draco shook his head, "The best chance is a team that works efficiently, and that's not one with me at the head right now. If I were the one giving orders, every Brit in there would try to sabotage me, Griffith would spend his time doing damage control, and you would have one and a half Healers doing actual work in an already suboptimal environment. This way you have a perfectly decent leader and a team that follows directions."

Potter still didn't look convinced.

"Look, if things go wrong Griffith isn't going to hesitate to reach out to me, but his underlings don't know that, and they don't want to remember that whatever Griffith is doing he learnt from me. You're getting the best of both worlds, really."

"And you're okay with that?" Potter asked.

"It's not truly relevant, is it? It's the best configuration possible. Am I undervalued? Yes. Do I enjoy that? Not really. But this is how your mission succeeds and I'm broadening my cultural and technical horizon. Wasn't that what you wanted from me?"

Potter didn't answer. He just sat down on the bench in front of Draco and stared out towards the rapidly approaching coast of the island.

A brief stop at the caves of Elephanta explained the better shape the local community was in. The entire island was heavily magically charged with a soothing and nurturing energy that not even the establishment of British cannon positions on the southwest side could disrupt more than a little.

The community leader explained to them how they took care of the island and the island took care of them in turn.

Draco was fascinated by the sculptures dotting the border of the magical wards, as if they were guarding and protecting the community from outside influence.

"Do you think this could be replicated up north?" Potter asked after they took a tour of the village.

"I have no idea," Draco replied honestly. "As far as I know you can't change the magical charge of an environment from one day to the next, I'm thinking of the struggle to cleanse remnants of Dark Magic from the earth or buildings, this… This is beyond anything I've ever done, it's centuries of nurture and devotion…"

"But we can start, right?" Potter's earnest look couldn't get more than a shrug out of Draco, as much as he wanted to give him the answer he wanted.

"I honestly don't know. You should try asking the community leaders, and see if they're willing to travel and help out."

* * *

It took negotiating, needling, cajoling and polite threats for the local government to cave and grant a direct connection between the two communities in the form of a post slot.

Harry put his foot down and dialled up all the charm he could muster when Hermione took him to the negotiating table, and they managed to get limited travel permission for a select few members of the Gharapuri community to leave the limits of the Unplottable land. It would be under the direct supervision and responsibility of Hermione and only for two months; after that, they would need to return to the island under threat of suspending Hermione’s entire diplomatic mission.

They still took it as a victory, and planned to make the most of the time granted.


	9. Chapter 9

Thanks to the new connection, the library filled day by day, as the men and women gathered outside it to listen and practice their magic with fewer and fewer accidents with every passing week. Harry often sat on the balustrade under an arched window and watched people of all ages help each other out to figure out how to bring out the energy they had inside instead of letting it burn them up. Every flare of the torch planted in front of the library was a small victory, every seedling of gooseberry growing brought more hope and a sense of accomplishment that filled Harry's chest with pride and comfort he'd never felt before. He was invited to a tattooing ceremony for one of the boys reaching adulthood and earning the first permanent magic channelling tattoo.

His eyes lingered on Malfoy, every day struggling to channel any magic without his wand as a conduit but trying all the same to break from those stringent rules. As the end of March approached fast, Harry felt the community shift around him, the excitement spread through children and young adults alike and he found himself smiling more, sending a spare thought to the Patils, probably preparing to celebrate Holi back in London as well.

He talked to Foster and Hermione and they agreed to let him stay overnight instead of hiking back. He expected Malfoy to be a lot harder to convince, but he agreed as soon as Harry proposed it over breakfast.

"We would have to sleep outside," Harry warned him.

"You say that as if it would be something new for me," Malfoy replied with a raised eyebrow. "As much as luxury suites fit my entire aesthetic, it's not how I usually live."

"It's easy to forget," Harry admitted.

Malfoy rested an elbow on the table and studied him for a moment, propping his cheek on his hand, "Now, is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Maybe?" Harry replied, honestly unsure. He still saw the refined aristocracy of the arch of Malfoy's lips and the long elegant fingers, so similar to his mother's, and he couldn't reconcile that with the rough life of a disaster relief volunteer. But he'd counted the freckles on his cheekbones where he'd worked under the sun, and felt the calluses of his hands grown from his tireless wand work; he'd seen how Malfoy had changed into the man sitting in front of him. Wasn't it disrespectful to keep looking for the boy he used to be?

"A picture will last longer, Potter," Malfoy told him, a corner of his mouth curled in the smallest teasing smile.

"Sorry, just… thinking. You'll stay up on the summit for Holi, then?"

"I promised you, didn't I? Whatever you need from me. Somehow I doubt this one is going to be that much of a chore."

As he gathered wood for the pyre Harry could feel the weight of Malfoy's words, 'I promised', and the question kept coming back. What did he need from Malfoy? He wanted everything, he wanted to see every part of him, understand the man he was now more than he wanted him to embark in the impossible mission of understanding Harry when Harry could barely understand himself. He wanted to _see_ Malfoy and know he was a better man than Harry gave him credit for.

The pyre built in the small town square was impressive in height and Harry was presented with the effigy of Holika to place on top of it to put the finishing touch on the stack.

He almost forgot Malfoy was there at all as they chanted the puja in front of the decorated stack of wood and dry palm leaves. His heart beat to the tempo of the chanting. The wood was set ablaze and he smiled as the night was lit up by the warm light of the fire, its heat licking at his face as he slowly walked around it.

It burned bright and fast, filling the square with the strong scent of aromatic wood and incense, feeding magic and new life to everyone present.

Time seemed to bend around the fire. The night never seemed to end, full of light and song, but he eventually lay down on a thin mat next to Malfoy, looking up at startlingly familiar stars, unable to sleep.

And yet, in a blink, the sky was filled with the bright colours of dawn, vibrant and warm as if the sky itself knew and was preparing for the second day of Holi.

Malfoy looked so peaceful, still asleep next to him, the gentle sweep of his eyelashes on his cheeks inviting Harry closer.

There was already movement around the little town, people preparing the dough for gujiya, drums being brought out, and if he looked over Malfoy's shoulder, he could see coloured powders starting to show up in the hands of children. It didn't take long for the unrestrained joy to fill the streets. Song and dance swept through the village, with drums sending clouds of yellow and pink up in the air with every beat. Young men and women chased each other, smearing reds and blues and greens on each other, the elders joining in by Summoning and shaping colourful clouds they could jump through.

Malfoy got them something to drink and the sweet milk and almond soothed Harry's parched throat.

"What is it?" he asked after draining the glass.

Malfoy frowned in concentration, probably trying to recall the name."Bhang Thandai?" It sounded almost like a question as his lips tentatively tried to shape the syllables.

Harry glanced down at the empty glass and then back up at Malfoy, holding an equally empty glass, and then he started giggling at the absurdity of Malfoy getting them both high without even trying.

"What?" he asked, "What's wrong?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing. We're good, I just didn't think we would celebrate quite this traditionally."

Harry got distracted by the bright smile on Malfoy's face, already half-covered in red, with orange streaks down his shirt. Too distracted to notice the handful of blue powder directed at his face.

"You were looking a little too plain, Potter," Malfoy told him, rubbing his hand on his face, from his forehead down to his neck, to make sure he got him good.

It was on, then. They chased each other around the square, gradually turning into unrecognisable rainbows, until they were out of breath and giggly, looking at each other with powder smeared everywhere. Malfoy shook his head and a multicoloured cloud fell from his hair, prompting more giggles from the both of them.

There was a stand next to the library where people were taking turns frying gujiyas and giving them out, always still warm, crispy and sticky and perfectly sweet.

Harry moaned as he bit into the first, the soft creamy filling oozing and creating a symphony of pleasure in his mouth. He dragged Malfoy closer and held out the other half for him.

"You've got to try this."

Malfoy didn't need any encouragement to lean closer and wrap his lips around the treat, licking the tip of Harry's fingers on the way. Harry stared transfixed at the way his jaw moved as he chewed. For some reason, the bright yellow stain on his neck made him all that more attractive, quite like the orange on his forehead, bringing out the few freckles still visible under the colours. When the tip of his pink tongue brushed over his lips to catch a few stray crumbs, Harry followed it with his eyes and without any conscious decision to do so, reached out, cupping Malfoy's cheek with a hand, smearing neon pink on his skin, and pulled him in until they were kissing, slow and languid, the milky taste of gujiya on their tongues.

Harry slid his fingers into Malfoy's hair, feeling the soft short strands at the nape of his neck, like velvet under his hand. Malfoy's fingers were digging into his sides, holding him close as he sucked on Harry's bottom lip.

They pulled apart slowly, with more lingering kisses bringing them closer every time they tried to step back. There were no words exchanged between them, no explanation, no justification, but as Harry looked at Malfoy's eyes, the pupils, blown wide, told him everything he needed to know, it wasn't all him in that kiss, it was the drink, and the charge of magic in the air, and a million other coincidences.

Sunset found them slowly cleaning off the powders, aiming gentle sprays of water at each other and watching it sluice off into the ground in small streams of ever-changing colours.

As they lay down on the ground, dried and clothed again, Harry felt the urge to speak.

"I don't hate you, Malfoy," he murmured.

"I gathered as much," he replied quietly.

Harry looked up at the moon, nearly full and impossibly bright above them.

"You became a better man than I thought you could grow into back when I knew you," he admitted. Hermione had been right.

"Do you think you don't know me anymore?"

The question surprised Harry, and he stopped to think about it for a long moment without finding a satisfactory answer, "Do I?"

"About as well as anybody else, I believe," Malfoy replied laconically.

* * *

Out of an unspoken mutual agreement they didn't speak of what happened during Holi again. Things went back to normal, with teaching, restoring old parchments, and surreptitiously advising Griffith on how to spot curse damage without equipment. After a particularly gruelling week isolating and cleansing the ground and animals affected by an accidental curse, Draco approached Hermione to ask for a few days off to travel north.

"You want to do some tourism, Malfoy?" she asked with an amused smile.

"It's… a personal matter," he tried to avoid the question.

"How long and where exactly would you be going?"

"No more than a week, I have to meet a man in Amritsar, the journey is going to take more time than my actual business."

"Is it time-sensitive?" She asked.

Draco frowned, unsure where this questioning was going. "Not really, no, I can schedule it more or less whenever in the next two weeks."

"Harry asked me for leave to go to Amritsar to celebrate Vaisakhi. You're going with him. You leave next week and you'll make a stop for me to check on the Jawhar community. We've lost contact with the local activists working there and I want to know what's going on. You have three weeks; it should give you more than enough time to do everything."

Draco nodded. "Yes. Thank you, Granger."

"Don't do anything stupid. If there is something wrong in Jawhar send a message back, I'm going to say the same to Harry but I think you are the one who might actually listen."


	10. Chapter 10

Harry packed light for his trip to Amritsar. Hermione had arranged a long distance Floo trip from the consulate to Jahwar, and from there a Portkey to Amritsar would be on standby after they checked in with the magical community. He hadn't planned to take Malfoy along, but the man had his own business to take care of in the city so he doubted he'd be an annoyance, and if something was indeed wrong in Jahwar, it would be useful to have a Healer on hand.

He poked his head through the door to see if Malfoy was done packing and found him carefully folding a set of semi-formal robes, which made him wonder what kind of business he had in Amritsar.

"Are you almost done?" he asked.

Malfoy glanced at him over his shoulder, "You do know we don't leave for three more hours, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, just checking in." He invited himself in and flopped down on a chair, watching Malfoy pack.

"What do we know about the community in Jahwar?" Malfoy asked, rolling up his socks and carefully placing them in the backpack.

"Very little. They're very close to the city and at high risk due to the expanding tourism in the area. They occupy a cave system along with some of the territories around it," Harry replied. "Hermione got someone to make contact a few months back and they were doing relatively well as far as accidental magic, but they interrupted communication suddenly so we're going to check."

Malfoy hummed and zipped up the suitcase before turning to face him.

"Quick lunch before leaving?" he proposed.

"Sure."

"Street cart vada pav?"

Harry grinned, getting up. "You _are_ learning something after all."

"I've always been a diligent student," Malfoy replied, leading the way out.

They grabbed their food and found a nice spot on the beach to eat, looking out to the sea, gently lapping at the sand.

"What business do you have in Amritsar?" Harry asked eventually. He'd checked and there was no one from WON working there.

"The personal kind."

Harry couldn't help the suspicion that arose from such an evasive answer, and it must have shown on his face because Malfoy's jaw hardened when he met his eyes.

"It's nothing illegal, Potter, don't get your panties in a twist. I have property there I need to check on."

That made Harry's eyebrows climb into his hairline.

"Merlin, Potter, it's recently acquired, can you stop it? I'm not going to tour my slave camp, it's just a house for Salazar's sake, I thought we were past this!"

"I'm sorry," Harry apologised.

"No, it's fine, I know how it sounds," Malfoy sighed as he got up and brushed the sand off his trousers. "We should get going or we'll be late at the embassy."

Hermione insisted on accompanying them to the embassy and as they prepared to step through the fire, she recommended one more time to be careful and to keep in touch.

"I know, 'Mione, if anything bad happens you'll know through the coins, otherwise, wait for our letter," Harry reassured her with a smile. "I'll see you in a couple of weeks."

They didn't waste much time getting to know the local officials that welcomed them to Jawhar, they had quite the trip ahead of them and Harry was anxious to get going.

As soon as they got out of the city limits, they stepped into a jungle environment, and even though the path was clearly marked and hard to lose, Harry felt like they were walking through a different world. They didn't exchange many words until they reached Dabosha falls and the quieter Malfoy was, the more on edge Harry became. They were going in blind and Merlin knew what would be waiting for them behind the Muggle-Repelling Charms in the Unplottable land. Still, when they got to the bottom of the waterfall he had to stop and admire it for a moment, the crash of it. The water foaming in the basin under it was mesmerising and the air was so clean it lifted his chest as he breathed.

"Which way?" Malfoy asked when he caught up, adjusting the backpack on his shoulders.

"Under and then up," Harry replied. "There's an opening under the waterfall that's going to take us on top. From there it's going to be just a few minutes until we cross into Unplottable land if the directions are accurate."

As promised, the slippery rock behind the waterfall melted away at the touch of Harry's hand, revealing a narrow corridor cut into the mountain and lit by a magical glow. As they ventured deeper, the climb got steeper and the sound of the waterfall, almost deafening when they stepped in, got further and further, muffled enough that their laboured breathing filled the space, drowning it out.

Harry felt it as soon as they emerged back into florid vegetation. Something was wrong. It was in the eerie silence of the jungle, the stillness of it when it should be crawling with life. His worst hunch was confirmed as soon as they breached the wards to find what looked like a ghost town. The stench of Dark Magic was heavy in the air and while Harry's step faltered, Malfoy had already dropped his backpack and got his wand out to scout the first few buildings.

Whatever happened, the entire population seemed to be affected to different degrees. The few who still were strong enough tried to care for the rest, bedridden and struggling to eat and drink as white whorls slowly overtook their limbs, closing in on their magical cores, leaving their skin bleached like bones under the sun. They went from home to home, witnessing unchanged scenes behind each thin door.

Harry exchanged a few words with the man who seemed in charge of the situation, half in Hindi, half in English. He managed to understand that this started happening after a small earthquake that made the caves uninhabitable. They left in favour of the surface, but whatever it was, followed.

"Can you heal them?" he asked Malfoy, the weight of the people's hopeful looks was too much to bear alone.

Malfoy's eyes flicked between the people gathered around them, the faces peeking out of doors and tent flaps, and he gave a minute shake of his head. "They're too many, and I can't cleanse all this Dark Magic alone. I would need Purifying Potions and then modified Pepper-Up…" He trailed off.

"Can't you brew them?" Harry pressed.

"I don't know how, Potter," he hissed.

Harry glanced at the men and women behind him and he knew he couldn't accept that.

"You were supposed to be the best at Potions."

"Yeah, in school, ten years ago! Then I went in a line of work where I had to learn to rely on my wand alone. Even if I knew how to brew them, we wouldn't have ingredients or time to make them. These people are actively dying."

"We can't just do nothing, Malfoy," Harry insisted, frustration clawing at his throat. "You need to try."

Malfoy shook his head. "There is no point—"

Harry clenched his fists and was ready to bite off his head at that. Of course there was a point. If they could save even only one of them it would be worth it. But Malfoy held up his hand and continued.

"Whatever poisoned them is still active, and even if I spent all day directly cleansing them one by one it would be like using a tissue to fix a breached dam. We need to find the root cause. Whatever happened in the caves needs to be fixed, and only then I'd be able to heal them."

"We're going into the caves?"

Malfoy nodded. "As ill-advised as that is. We're going into an unstable, recently collapsed, and probably cursed cave system."

Harry gave him a tentative smile.

"What have you done to me, Potter?"

A young man, Vikram, offered to guide them down the rocky path into the mountain, and with a touch of his finger he lit up the intricate drawings climbing up his arm, shining a warm light around them as they went deeper.

Harry kept his wand in front of himself, paying attention to where he stepped on the slippery rock. There were cracks in the walls and signs of collapsed corridors, but what caught his attention were the etchings in the walls and how the rock formations were delicately shaped.

"Our magic," Vikram confirmed when Harry asked about them. "Home and magic, same shape."

Healer Gupta had said something of the sort, about the environment shaping the person's magic and their magic shaping the environment in turn, until one or the other was thrown out of balance.

"Potter," Malfoy gently pulled his attention to a half-collapsed corridor.

They'd been going down for some time; Harry wasn't sure how long, but the way had been steep and it had gotten cold and dark enough that Vikram's spell didn't quite reach all the nooks and crannies of the rocks around them. But this corridor was different; the darkness there had a different quality, it was thick and almost palpable, it rejected light and at the same time it beckoned one closer, in a way that reminded Harry of the shade under a Dementor's tattered cloak. It was a danger that didn't try to hide, and at the same time had an irresistible allure.

"Wait here," he told Vikram as he lit up his own wand.

Malfoy was already muttering to himself, heading straight into the gaping maw of darkness, the shifting shades of spells reflecting on the wet surface of the light stone around them as he walked without faltering over the unsteady rocks. Harry hurried after him, into a room that was tall enough to stand straight, but not much more than that. In a corner was a massive stalactite, right above the beginning of a small pool of water, dark and still even under the strongest _Lumos_. A shiver ran down Harry's back; he didn't trust still cave waters, especially when there was Dark Magic running rampant very close to it. He turned to inspect the rest of the room and check for lingering magic in the walls. There was something in the way the rock was striped that niggled him into checking, and when he found isolation wards, he knew something was up.

But it was too late, Malfoy was already crouched over the water, and a tendril of it was slithering around him like a viper poised to strike.

"Look out!"

Harry's spell ricocheted off the wall, missing its target entirely, so he did the one thing he could think of, tackling Malfoy out of the way, far from the dark pool and blocking the strike with his own body.


	11. Chapter 11

"What in the name of Circe are you doing, Potter?!" Malfoy yelled as the wall behind them collapsed under the force of Harry's spell, blocking the exit completely.

"Saving your ungrateful arse from unknown curses! What I was hired to do," Harry replied, cradling his arm close to his chest as the burning sensation settled deep in the muscle, already starting to spread from where the water touched him.

"I have protection against Dark Magic, Potter!" Malfoy got up and dusted himself off, and as Harry looked at him noticed a shimmer around him that couldn't be attributed to the light glinting off his hair; it was distinctly magical in nature. "And a Protection Charm would have sufficed, no need to blast off half the room."

He bent down and pulled Harry up and away from the water. They barely got steady on their feet when the ground shook again and a crack started opening in the ceiling. Malfoy immediately let go of him and started casting, talking too fast for Harry to keep up with. A net quickly formed out of the tip of his wand, and adhered to the unsteady sides of the cave, holding up the ceiling.

"Well, this is less than ideal…" Malfoy commented once the shaking stopped. He glanced up above himself where all the points converged to the centre and then to his wand. Then he looked down to Harry, still cradling his arm. "Definitely not ideal."

Harry pushed himself up and went in the general direction of the entrance and called out Vikram's name to make sure he was okay. Once the muffled reply came through, Harry realised there was little he could do besides go back to the surface and warn everyone not to go back in.

"What now?" Harry asked, glancing at Malfoy, holding up the cave above them with no more effort than carrying a parasol.

"Well, you could start by defusing the curse. There is an artefact on the bottom of that pool. I've seen one like it before. It leeches off people's magic, funnelling it into a specific spell, hence the isolation around the room. It was widely used during magical warfare by the empire, but was deemed too unreliable to use between civilised people."

"Yeah, civilised," Harry commented bitterly. "How do we deal with it?"

"Standard protocol—extract, isolate, transport to neutralise."

Harry rolled up his sleeves and walked up to the pond, trying to make up the shape of what was lying on the bottom.

"Not with your bare hands, for Merlin's sake."

"It already got me, what else can it do?" Harry argued, straightening up.

"It could get you _faster,_ " Malfoy replied. "And in case you haven't noticed, I'm not really in the position to do much about it."

Harry sighed and aimed his wand, carefully levitating the thing out of the water. As the dark liquid sluiced off it, slowly, as if trying to cling to it, an intricate tiger shaped brooch came to light, and Harry encased it with the strongest Containment Spell he could manage. As soon as the last line was drawn around it and it was cut off from its environment, the water cleared up, going back to its stillness and transparency.

"Any chance you can contact Granger from down here? I'm fairly confident this constitutes 'something bad happening' and warrants a coin message."

Harry fumbled with his pockets, struggling to fish the coin out, then twisted it three times in his fingers.

"We're shit out of luck," he announced, the coin slipping from his hand and rolling on the floor. The light ding reverberated in the empty room and he sighed, not bothering to get up and get it.

"How long until she gets suspicious about us being incommunicado, do you reckon?" Malfoy asked casually.

"Two days. Three and she'll be here with a rescue team. We might as well get comfortable. How long can you hold this up?" Harry nodded towards the ceiling.

"As long as I don't fall asleep, I can make it two days. Three is a bit of a stretch."

Harry hummed and got comfortable sitting against a smooth section of the wall.

He breathed slowly, meditating to pass the time; they were going to have a lot of it to kill. After a while, he carefully clenched his fist and shook out the stiffness settling in his fingers.

"Show me your arm, Potter, let me see the damage," Malfoy told him.

Harry glanced up at him.

"It's nothing, and you can't do anything about it while holding the ceiling up."

"I'll be the judge of that. If you drop dead your containment is going to fail in short order and I don't look forward to either being found in a cave with your cursed corpse or being dead myself, so I might reevaluate the priorities between the ceiling and you. Show me some skin, Potter."

Harry relented and rolled his sleeve up to the elbow, exposing the white tendrils extending from the point of impact.

"I need to see how far they go," Malfoy told him. "Shirt off."

Harry hesitated under his expectant gaze. A new warmth was burning low in his stomach, not entirely unwelcome, at the thought of how intense Malfoy's scrutiny could be, and what stupid decisions those eyes could push him into. He turned his back before pulling off his shirt, the illusion of privacy immediately dispelled as he turned back around, bare under Malfoy's examination.

"A lion?" Malfoy commented as his eyes fell on the lion's head tattoo over his left pectoral. "Leaning into the Gryffindor golden boy image, much?" His teasing was gentle, meant to distract him from the cold fingers tracing the lines of curse damage up his arm and crawling over his shoulder. Harry didn't mention the actual meaning of it, it was irrelevant now.

"How bad is it, Malfoy?" he asked, his eyes struggling to lift higher than the open collar of Malfoy's shirt and the glimpse of collarbone peeking out, afraid to look him in the face and find something he didn't want to see in his eyes.

"Well, this is quite dire."

Harry's eyes snapped up at that.

"Don't freak out, Potter, I'm going to fix this."

"You can't cast," Harry pointed out, unnerved by Malfoy's calm indifference.

"Do you really think I wouldn't have a contingency plan for that? I'm not some fool jumping into danger for the fun of it, thank you very much. I may have changed but not that much."

He used his free hand to quickly unbutton his shirt, stopping when he realised he couldn't undo his cuffs one-handed.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked.

"I thought it would be an appropriate moment to attempt to corrupt your virtue." Malfoy's sarcasm didn't stop Harry's cheeks from heating up at the memory of that stolen kiss, the taste of his lips still vivid in Harry's mind.

"I'm trying to heal your ungrateful arse from unknown curses; what I was hired to do."

The aching tenderness in Malfoy's tone was too raw for Harry, still too comfortable with their jabs and barbs, hiding everything else beneath them. When Malfoy held out his arm for Harry to undo the cuff, he hesitated with his fingers just shy of Malfoy's skin, his eyes drawn towards the faint scar lines crossing over his chest, now exposed by the open shirt.

"Potter," he called him softly.

Harry closed his fingers around Malfoy's wrist. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"I would have done the same." Malfoy dismissed his apology too easily, it wasn't right.

"But you didn't. You had the chance and you didn't."

"I did other things, worse things."

Harry raised his eyes to look at Malfoy and he didn't need an apology, another one. He didn't need words anymore.

"Take my shirt off, Potter," Malfoy whispered, a gentle finger trapping his wrist and prompting him into action.

It took a bit of manoeuvring on Malfoy's part, switching hands of his wand, but eventually, he dropped the shirt on the wet cave floor.

"What now?" Harry asked.

"Touch the egg with your cursed hand."

Harry reached out, hesitating as Malfoy flexed his shoulders, as if preparing for a blow, the simple outline of an egg sitting unassuming between his shoulder blades. As soon as Harry's fingers brushed against the ink, it cracked and unfurled until a phoenix emerged from it, fiery and golden, raising its head over Malfoy's shoulder and its tail rolling down his spine to curl around his hip. Malfoy whimpered as if in pain when it spread its wings, feathers reaching down his arms until the elbow. Harry had never seen a tattoo, even magical, look so real. It seemed like it could take flight any moment now, its feathers ruffling as if caressed by a gentle breeze.

"Come here," Malfoy ordered, gesturing for Harry to come back in front of him.

His eyebrows were furrowed and his jaw clenched.

"What is that?" Harry asked, still taking in new details as the image shifted.

"Heal now, explain later. Arm."

Harry offered up his arm, pinned down by the dark eyes of the phoenix peeking out between Malfoy's neck and his shoulder. He didn't notice the golden flames surrounding Malfoy's hand until it closed over the point of impact of the curse. The cool comfort of Malfoy's palm soothed the stiffness and burning of the curse spreading through him, and minute by minute the white tendrils insinuating around his chest started to retreat, leaving behind brown, unmarred skin, as they it had never been there. He wasn't sure how long it took, too mesmerised by the changing light of the heatless flames surrounding Malfoy's hand as it burned every trace of Dark Magic from him.

Eventually the fire extinguished and Malfoy let go of him, leaving Harry with the ghost of his touch lighting up his skin. He watched Malfoy sit down gingerly, still holding onto his wand with an unsteady hand.

"Any chance you've got food in that backpack of yours?" he asked, pushing his hair back from his forehead, matted with sweat.

"Just water," Harry replied, pulling a canteen from the pack and handing it over.

"Better than nothing."

Malfoy took a few gulps and then closed his eyes, resting his head against the rock wall, trying to catch his breath.

"Are you going to explain?" Harry asked.

"It's a last-ditch protection. I got the tattoo done in Abu Simbel, on one of my first tours in Egypt. The woman who did it is a specialist, the ink is imbued with phoenix tears, reacts to curses and poison."

"Why didn't you use it to cure the people out there?" Harry tried not to stare at the way Malfoy’s neck bobbed as he drank.

"It only has one charge and it's extremely unpleasant for me to wake the phoenix. I only ever used it once before today and it was on myself. I'll have to find someone to re-enchant it if I want to use it again, so try not to get cursed and or poisoned in the foreseeable future."

"I'll do my best," Harry replied with a half-smile.

The silence stretched between them, the only things disturbing the stillness of the room was the dripping of water, drop by drop, from the tip of the stalactite, and the buzzing of the cursed artefact from inside the Containment Spell.

Harry’s eyes kept tracing the shape of phoenix feathers on Malfoy's arm, following the edge of the wing, up the strong shoulder and brushing along the strong column of his neck. He picked up a pebble and threw it his way, startling him.

"Don't fall asleep, Malfoy."

"Then keep me awake," he grumbled, pushing himself up to sit straighter. "Tell me about Amritsar. Have you been before?"

Harry shook his head. "Not yet, but I know a lot of my family was there, I tracked down memorial plaques and tombs in a cemetery. Tracking down my Sikh relatives was harder, but there were donations in their name to Harmandir Sahib."

Harry threw another pebble at Malfoy, to make sure he was still awake.

"I'm listening."

"I wanted to go there for Vaisakhi, but I'm starting to doubt we'll make it," Harry sighed, thumping his head against the rock.

"We can always go back next year," Malfoy pointed out, as if there was no question they would be back in India next April, like him following Harry to religious celebrations he had only a vague understanding of was the most natural thing in the world.

"You would like Harmandir Sahib. It's all gold and marble, a work of art in the middle of the lake." Harry smiled.

"Are you trying to sell it to me?" Malfoy joked.

At some point, Harry's stomach started to grumble, and the memory of those vada pavs on the beach came back to haunt him, like the promise of aloo tikki up north.

Harry was pretty sure it was night outside. They’d been there for several hours now and Malfoy had walked the length of the small room enough that Harry teased him about wearing down the floor.

"Why are you going through this much trouble to track this side of your family tree?" Malfoy’s question broke the silence, startling Harry out of his idle musing about food.

"It’s my family." It seemed like a fairly straightforward answer.

"Yeah, but don’t you have living relatives in England? A cousin and some uncles?"

"Oh…" Harry rubbed the tip of his boot against a rough spot on the floor. "They never really wanted me as part of their family. I was a burden for eleven years and a curse for the following seven. They were more than happy to be rid of me when the Order came to collect me to send me to war."

Harry glanced at Malfoy’s face, but the abject horror reflected in his eyes, barely held back by the clench of his jaw, made him avert his eyes.

"They only resented having to leave the house." He shrugged.

"You were a child."

"Yeah, one they didn’t want or ask for. Dumbledore dropped me on their doorstep and fucked off to Hogwarts for ten years."

"You were an orphaned child," Malfoy repeated. "Their own nephew, not some stranger foundling."

"Are you really that surprised that a suburban English family was eager to pretend their mixed-raced ward didn’t exist?" Harry asked, with a touch of disbelieving amusement in his voice.

Malfoy sighed and closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall as all the fight left his body. "I suppose I shouldn’t be."

"Besides, it’s not like you had a perfect family either," Harry pointed out.

Malfoy cracked his eyes open. "I never had to doubt whether my parents loved me. I was never made to feel like a burden, Potter. A disappointment, a liability, sure, but never a burden. Neither should you have." Malfoy’s voice faded into a murmur and Harry let it wash over him, settling in his bones. He knew it to be true, but hearing it from the lips of the man who was supposed to despise him was a different thing entirely.

"I’m sorry for the part I played in making you feel like you deserved that."

* * *

Harry realised he'd fallen asleep only when he was startled awake by the ground shifting under him. He immediately kicked Malfoy's leg, thinking he'd fallen asleep and let the Stabilisation Charm slip.

"It's not me, Potter. It's something outside!" Malfoy returned the kick for good measure.

He got up and strengthened the spell until a muffled voice came from the other side of the collapsed wall.

"Stop resisting, we're trying to get you out!"

Malfoy's shoulders visibly relaxed as he gradually took down a section of the net and a few moments later the rubble parted like water, revealing Healer Gupta's smiling face and Vikram behind her. Both had their arms bared, big sections of their tattoos glowing red as they manipulated the rock around to make a secure passage.

"How are you holding up, Sādā Sāpa?"

"Could be better," Malfoy replied, giving her a tired smile, "Never happier to see your face, Sahiba."

"Follow Vikram, he'll lead you out."

The walk back up to the surface felt much longer than the descent and when they got out to breathe the clean night air, Harry wondered exactly how long they had been trapped down there, with only the knowledge of the length they would go to protect the other to fill the empty space between them.

Harry immediately asked about the population and how they were doing, insisting he check on the people affected by the curse. It took some forceful negotiation to convince him that the progression of the curse had stopped and that he wasn't going to get near anyone or anything if not some food and a bed after being cursed and locked in a cave for a day and a half.

"The Ambassador sent a curse-breaker after me," Healer Gupta told him. "You eat and rest now, he’ll come soon."

The amused curl of Malfoy's lips told him in no uncertain terms he wasn't going to find any support there.

Vikram invited them to stay at his home and a few other people brought them food.

"Why are you here, Sahiba?" Malfoy asked as they sat down to share a meal.

"Same as you, check in with them," she replied, nodding towards the other houses visible through the window. "You got here first and acted like fools so I had to come rescue."

Malfoy averted his eyes with an awkward smile. "Yeah… thank you for that. That's twice you got my back."

"I will make it three if need be," she assured.

"Let's hope not, I will never be able to repay the favour."

Once his belly was finally full, and he'd had some water, Harry started to feel the exhaustion settling in. The twinge in his arm, the weight of his eyelids, and the start of a headache prompted him to leave Malfoy to Healer Gupta's company if he wanted and retreat to bed. The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was Malfoy's voice floating in through the thin wall asking Healer Gupta about expert tattooists.


	12. Chapter 12

Harry insisted they wait until the curse-breaker arrived before leaving, and that meant a lot of idle time for him and a lot of work for Malfoy and Healer Gupta, making their way through the population performing cleansing rituals on everyone still sporting the creeping tendrils of curse damage on their skin, disrupting their tattoos, or anyone whose casting was inconsistent and erratic.

He spent a lot of time sitting near the edge of the village, staring down at the path out the jungle, waiting for the man to finally show up. Vaisakhi came and went and Malfoy sat next to him as the sun went down after another hot day, the air around him cooling and the sounds of the jungle changing from the light song of the day to the quieter whisper of the night.

"What's on your mind?" he asked, handing over a piece of roti, a bowl of Bhindi Masala between them.

"Living separated in Unplottable land is going to kill them."

Harry didn't mince his words and Malfoy didn't reply, simply sat watch next to him, waiting for a man who might as well be wandering lost somewhere between the falls and the caves.

"They can't communicate with other magical communities reliably and can't find each other in time of need." The image of bars across a window and a lock on the door he couldn't open came back to Harry.

"What do you propose we do about it?" Malfoy asked, nudging the curry closer.

"I'll get Hermione to put her foot down about lifting the spell secreting the land," Harry decided.

"They'd still be too far for Floo connection and they don't use owls," Malfoy pointed out.

"I've been thinking about it ever since we went to Gharapuri Island. It's not the land connecting everything, it's the water; the rivers run across India carrying life from the mountains to the ocean. My father had these mirrors, a pair, made and polished together, that he used to speak with Sirius when they were away from each other."

Harry took a slow breath, pushing down the lump closing his throat at the thought of yet another piece of his heritage that was lost, one broken, the other still with Aberforth.

"If each of them had an enchanted mirror, washed in the water of the same river, the same water, the same metal…"

"It could work, pricey, but if you get a few artisans together you would have a reliable mode of communication, you wouldn't need more than one for each community to start."

"Make it big enough—"

"To travel?"

Harry nodded determinedly.

"I don't know, Potter, travelling through mirrors is incredibly dangerous, there is a reason we use fire instead." Malfoy sounded terribly reasonable, but Harry had thought about that too.

"But it wouldn't be through mirrors, it would be through the water."

"You want to make a stable water mirror for each enclave?" Malfoy was looking at him like he was crazy, but Harry knew it could be done. If they could travel through paintings, a water mirror was a viable mode of communication and travel. And as he stared Malfoy down, he saw his need to prove he could do the impossible kick in, the more he thought about it.

"I don't even know where to find someone with the skills for that kind of enchanting," he sighed, and Harry knew there was no going back. It was a question of how, not if.

Before Harry could continue there was a rustle in the undergrowth ahead of them and a moment later a man emerged from the darkness of the jungle, making his way towards the light of the torches at the side of the path.

"Mr Potter! It's a relief to finally see you!"

* * *

They returned to the city only after every last person had recovered from the curse and the land was completely cleansed from its influence, and Potter insisted on sending a message to Granger immediately. The absurdity of using a Muggle phone to call the Four Seasons and discuss the crafting of a series of water mirrors was entirely lost on him, apparently.

By nightfall, they were settling in a hotel room in Amritsar, the Golden Temple illuminated against the night sky out the window. It was nothing compared to their connecting suites in Mumbai, but as he watched Potter drop his clothes in a pile and head to the enclosed bathroom to shower, Draco knew they didn't need the wide berth, they'd learnt to breathe in sync and exist in the same space. He dropped his backpack at the foot of his bed, leaving the one closer to the window to Potter, and barely made it into his pyjamas and under the sheets before passing out.

Draco woke early in the morning, with the sun hitting his eyes and reminding him they'd forgotten to close the curtains. Potter had wisely fallen asleep with his back to the window, and the white sheets were all tangled with his legs. He was restless even as he slept, but in that moment, with the clear blue sky outlining his profile and the shape of the Golden Temple over his shoulder, he looked at peace, even just for a second. His chest rose and fell slowly. The taste of sweet milk on Potter's lips still haunted Draco and he ached to reach out and run his fingers through his hair, growing longer, and by some miracle, less messy, but he was too afraid to disrupt that moment of peace.

He followed the line of Potter's flank with his eyes, taking in every detail, every scar, every dark hair on his arms and his chest. He was in no hurry, as if dawn would last forever and he could finally drink in Potter until he was satisfied, but when he followed the bridge of his straight nose up, he found Potter's eyes open and staring right back at him, without the protection of the round spectacles hiding them. There was no accusation, no fear, no disdain, nothing of what Draco was used to finding behind Potter's green eyes when they rested on him.

"Good morning," he whispered, unable to avert his eyes and save at least appearances.

Potter's lips curled in a shadow of a smile, "M'rnin."

And with that word, the spell was broken and time started running again. Even as he went to shower, Draco could still feel the gentle caress of Potter's eyes on him.

Potter didn't even ask him to come along with him to the Golden Temple, as if he knew that Draco would follow him wherever he led, as if he knew how addictive it was to stand under his eyes and have his complete attention. He rinsed his feet in the water basin outside the temple door and covered his head, following in Potter's every step along the decorated corridor. He watched the awe flood his face as he took in the intricate decoration of the ceilings and the strong columns holding the structure up. He felt warmth spread in his chest at the way Potter’s eyes widened and his breath caught at every turn, and with all the art surrounding them, there was nothing Draco wanted to look at more than Potter’s face filled with childlike wonder. He let Potter set the pace, lingering and walking slowly across the wide rooms, he waited quietly when he stopped to pray in the comfortable cool air in the middle of the temple, surrounded by strangers that shared with him more than Draco could hope.

When they emerged from the arches back into the midday sun Potter turned to him, almost hesitant, an expression Draco had yet to see on him.

"There is another place I'd like to visit," he mentioned.

"Do you want me to come along?" Draco asked.

"You said you had business to attend to…"

"We still have time and it can wait," Draco assured.

Potter looked at him in silence for a long moment, as if trying to decipher a mystery before giving a short nod and heading down the narrow way from the temple back to land. It only took a few minutes for the grandiose architecture surrounding the temple to give way to simpler structures, houses, shops, bustling Muggle life.

Potter walked with purpose, a clear direction in mind, and made them weave among passersby for almost half an hour until Potter found what he was looking for: an arc sketched in coal on a building that used to be white. As soon as he touched the tip of his wand to it, the grime disappeared from the wall and the lines of it became crisper, opening a passage to what looked like a wide garden. Potter walked through first, and Draco followed, letting the passage close behind him.

Draco's first impression had been mistaken; as they walked along the narrow path through the grass Draco spotted simple pointed gravestones, crosses, and elaborate statues marking graves, some lovingly tended to, some in ruins due to time or disuse. He glanced at the dates, the one thing he could read, and found them going back in time the further they ventured in the field. The nineteenth century gave place to eighteenth, and seventeenth before Potter stopped in front of a small mausoleum. It was ancient, but well kept, easily one of the bigger structures around, with columns and windows on every side. The wrought iron gate wasn't locked and Draco could see the edge of a mosaic that was too clean to have been entirely abandoned.

"Where are we?" He asked softly.

"I needed to meet my family," Potter replied.

Draco took in the rows of simple and neat gravestones surrounding the mausoleum, each of them with the same characters as the ones etched into the stone above the door. There were so many, and Draco knew they weren't all there. A lot of his relatives had been Sikhs, so their ashes were dispersed in a river with no monument to celebrate their footprint in the world.

Potter gently pushed the gate open and took the three steps to get inside the cold rectangular room. The ceiling was domed, completely decorated in a stunning mosaic of a starry sky, each star in golden tiles, at first seemingly random, but soon enough Draco started recognising constellations and wondered about the dedication to detail of whoever made it.

Two big alcoves occupied the sides. One in front of the other, they were decorated with delicate carvings all along the arc. Cartouches sculpted in the stone above them named the people resting under the stone slabs. Smaller nooks lined the walls, each with dates, names and elaborate etchings and gold decoration. Draco lingered at the door while Potter made his way slowly around the mausoleums, greeting each person for a moment, lingering over some a little longer. He stopped halfway, under the statue of a man leaning heavily on a cane, with a cloak folded over his arm. It was stunningly made, made of solid marble, but it looked like the gentlest breeze could make the cloth flutter. Potter stared into his eyes for a long time, the tension growing in his shoulders as he stood under the gaze of his patriarch, his family name towering over them both.

"Potter…" he whispered, hesitating to reach out to him.

"That's not my name." Draco couldn't find words when he turned around and pinned Draco down with the weight of his gaze, "I was meant to be Hari Poddar."

"Harry, I…"

"You promised me anything I needed," he started softly, walking towards Draco and stopping under the dome.

Draco nodded. He still meant it, now more than ever. Whatever Harry asked, Draco would give him.

"What I need, you cannot give me. I need for my roots not to have been burned out of the ground. I need for my house not to have been destroyed and torn apart, for my family not to have been eradicated."

Each word squeezed Draco's lungs more and more and no word could pass his lips when Harry closed the distance and reached for his arm, covering the Dark Mark with a warm hand.

"You don't owe me anything more than you've already given. I know you won't go backwards, Draco. That’s enough."

Draco's knees gave out from under him and he crumpled into Harry's arms. "I'm sorry." It was a broken whisper against Harry's neck as his tears drenched Harry's shoulder.

"I know," Harry murmured, and Draco almost believed he could become to deserve that tenderness. "Let's go back to the hotel, see if Hermione wrote back about the mirrors," he proposed after a minute of letting Draco cry into his shirt.

Draco shook his head. "I have to take you somewhere first." He wiped his face as discreetly as he could. It felt all wrong but if he didn't do it now, he would never get to it.

* * *

Harry looked at him, the question in his eyes, but he didn't ask when Draco led the way back out the graveyard and hailed a taxi. They crossed the city too fast for Harry to keep track of where they were going until they pulled up in front of a teahouse. A tall man with a long dark beard and purple turban appeared to be waiting outside for them, or more accurately for Draco, from the questioning look he gave Harry, he was clearly an unexpected development.

"Sādā Sāpa, I was starting to think you would never come!"

Draco smiled apologetically before paying the driver with a ridiculously excessive amount of money.

"I'm sorry for the delay, Taranjit, thank you for your patience. Let's go inside, I'll need to do some introductions before we talk business."

Harry followed, wondering, not for the first time, why people insisted on bringing him along while they dealt with business he had nothing to do with.

They were sat in a comfortable booth and Draco let Taranjit order for them. He pulled out an envelope from his pocket and discreetly resized it before setting it on the table. As soon as the steaming tea was brought to them Draco decided it was time to start explaining.

"Harry, this is Taranjit Singh, Taranjit, this is Harry Potter. You two are cousins, too many times removed to bother to count, but you're of the same blood."

Harry froze, halfway reaching for the pot on the table.

"Is this a sick joke?" he asked, his eyes flitting between Draco and the man in front of them. "I… We… you know that it isn't possible, right? I made you study the family tree."

"I had Pansy investigate the branches you couldn't track down," Draco started to explain, opening the papers and spreading them on the table between them. "See here?" He pointed at an empty space on the tree he'd drawn with Harry almost a year prior. "She managed to get access to the magical school records and fill in the gaps with a bit of bribery and her superior heraldic knowledge, enough to track down Mr Singh here."

Harry stared at the blank spot under Draco's finger, unable to process what he was saying. He _wasn't_ the last. There was still a piece of his family.

"Mr Singh has three children, the youngest almost of school age," Draco continued, but Harry was lagging behind.

"I don't think Hari cares about that right now," Taranjit stopped Draco's info dump, giving Harry a kind smile.

Harry could feel tears well in his eyes. "Taranjit," he whispered, his tongue caressing the syllables like a comfort food he'd forgotten the taste of. He wasn't alone. "You have three children."

He nodded. "It's good to meet you, Hari."

Harry turned to Draco. "He really is my cousin?"

Draco nodded with steadfast confidence that grounded Harry in the reality of it.

"You tracked him down? For me?"

"I have a duty towards you," Draco whispered.

Harry shook his head. "You…" Harry wiped his eyes and then smiled at Taranjit. "My cousin. My cousin has kids, magical kids." He laughed at the bubble of sun-warm joy at the thought of it.

"All very talented," Taranjit confirmed with an unmistakable tone of parental pride.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair. "This is the business you had in Amritsar?" Harry asked Draco.

"Oh, no, Sādā Sāpa has property to oversee," Taranjit told him, taking out a folder from a messenger bag. "All the paperwork is in order and the restorations were made according to direction," he told Draco, handing it over.

"What is this?" Harry asked, trying to read it before Draco resized it and slipped it into his pocket.

"You have to see it in person. It's not far. I'll explain when we're there," Draco replied.

The tea was entirely forgotten at that point, and they left without even touching it. Taranjit guided them behind the tea room and into an alley, with a simple touch of his hand he opened a passage into a cobbled street that hadn’t been there a moment ago and led the way inside.

They stopped in front of a wrought-iron gate, the metal spikes curled and twisted into delicate vines and the hinges moved silently when Taranjit pushed it open. The garden was bare, with newly planted flowers dotting the aired soil, along with what looked like an ancient tree a little ways away from the house. They walked along the stone path up to the steps leading to the arched entrance.

"What is this?" Harry asked, when Draco invited him inside. Everything was polished and new, but the architecture was old, the geometric decoration of the floors, the shape of the windows, it was a perfectly restored house, and it was massive, bigger than Grimmauld Place. The figures in the mosaics waved at them and there were statues in every nook along the wall, delicate and detailed enough that Harry expected them to breathe and start moving at any moment.

"This is Poddar Home, or as it used to be called Uktarsh Bagh," Draco replied, guiding him up the massive staircase to the upper floor.

Harry turned to Taranjit. "You live here?"

Taranjit laughed, a full-bellied laugh that made Harry smile even though it was at his expense, "Oh, no, Hari, I couldn't maintain such a house with my business. Sādā Sāpa owns it now, I only oversaw the restoration."

"Before you accuse me of stealing your family house away from its last descendants, I tracked the owners down with the help of your cousin and bought it back." Draco preempted an accusation that hadn't even come to Harry's mind. "He helped me find local craftsmen and artisans to restore it. I hired Dean Thomas to find the original art but… well, it was recreated as close to the originals as possible."

Harry touched the polished banister, barely registering what Draco was saying. This was his house. There was a place where his great-grandparents had lived, generations before him, and it was still there, with the same magic, Draco had put it back together.

"What will you do with it?" Harry asked.

Draco stopped and turned around with an air of confusion on his face.

"It's yours, Harry. If you want it." He took out the papers and Summoned a quill. "I got it for you, you can sign the papers now and have it."

Harry stared at him stunned at the thought of owning his ancestral home, and after a long moment Draco seemed to hesitate in front of his silence.

"You don't have to accept it. I will turn this into a gurukul if you don't want it. Taranjit agreed it would be the best way to—"

"I want it." Harry interrupted him, his heart beating fast against his ribs, trying to jump out and fill every room of the house, breathe in every scent and taste the magic in the air.

Draco smiled and handed him the papers to sign.

"Anything I needed, uh?" Harry smiled, holding the quill right above the parchment.

"I promised," Draco murmured, an aching tenderness filled his voice, as if it was the one thing he'd most wanted to do in the world.

"You are incredible." Harry felt the shift of magic as he signed his name at the bottom of the page, how the house became brighter around him, and the air got sweeter, the carpet softer under his feet. "I will speak for you in England, you deserve the chance to go home too." He looked up at Draco with determination set in his eyes.

Draco smiled and shook his head, reaching out to touch Harry's arm. "I'm not going back to England, Harry. It's in safe hands, Blaise and Granger have it all figured out. And our work is not done here. If you'll have me, I want to stay, help you track down every last magical person in India and make sure they have the support they need and deserve."

Harry was once again at a loss for words, and Draco hesitated in front of his silence.

"And I think… I would like to stay even after that."

Harry dropped the papers on the floor and pulled Draco in to kiss him, trapping him against the banister and messing up the perfectly styled hair he maintained despite the humidity. He nipped at his lips until Draco parted them, melting into the kiss with a soft sigh. He made Harry feel greedy, offering everything up for Harry to take and have without fear of losing.

Only Taranjit's discreet cough stopped Harry from having Draco right then and there, bent over the banister overlooking the grand foyer. Draco was blushing down to his neck and there was no way of making his hair look like it hadn't been tugged by Harry's fingers, no matter how he tried to smooth it down and readjust his shirt.

"Went better than we expected," Taranjit joked, a teasing twinkle in his black eyes as he looked at Draco.

"Quite," Draco agreed, looking anywhere but at their faces.

"I'm glad to have met you, Hari, but I see my presence is no longer welcome." Taranjit smiled warmly and with his whole face, in a way that hid no resentment. "I have no doubt we will see each other again, but I have to travel south soon, I heard Ambassador Granger is looking for mirror-makers."

They walked him back down to the entrance and Harry promised to be in contact if they didn’t meet each other back in Mumbai. He held onto Draco’s hand as they watched him walk away, down the path of interlocked bricks, and close the gate behind himself. He still struggled to believe that man was real, a descendant of his actual family, and that Draco of all people had managed to track him down.

“Do you want to finish the tour?” Draco gently squeezed his hand, nudging him back inside.

Harry suddenly realised Draco was right there, looking as edible as ever, with his lips kiss-swollen and inviting. “How many bedrooms does this place have?” 

Draco huffed a laugh. “Several, you want to see the master suite?”

“Yes, please.” Harry grinned.

Draco led him back up the main stairway to the upper floor, to a room in the west wing. It was wide and warm, earth tones and oranges creating a welcoming environment. The bed in the middle was enormous, of solid wood with a carved headboard resembling lace. The whisper-light curtains, neatly tied to the twisted columns, fluttered in the breeze coming in through the window, offsetting the heaviness of the imposing piece of furniture. 

He let go of Draco’s hand and pulled the glass door open all the way to step out into the balcony. He leaned against the stone balustrade, looking down at the interior garden, the interlocking tiles and the young trees. It had barely been born but Harry could feel centuries of history in the flow of water in the middle of the garden.

He didn’t turn around when Draco joined him on the balcony and hesitantly placed a hand over Harry’s on the balustrade.

“Do you like it?”

Harry turned to look at his face, the hesitance and anticipation swirling in his grey eyes couldn’t be masked by a tentative smile.

“It’s more than I could have ever imagined. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Draco’s smile widened minutely. “You gave me a pretty good idea of it, actually,” he replied, trailing his fingers up Harry’s arm.

“I wasn’t sure you were even listening,” Harry admitted, looping a finger in Draco’s belt loop, pulling him closer, “or that you actually cared.”

Draco’s hand settled, cool and strong, on Harry’s neck, his thumb rushing against the angle of his jaw, scraping against the beard. “I was always listening.”

“I know that now,” Harry chuckled, tilting his head back a little.

More freckles were dotting Draco’s nose than he remembered, and Harry could have counted and catalogued each one in the centuries it took for Draco to lean down and close the distance between them to finally kiss him again.

Harry’s arm wrapped around his thin waist, grabbing at the soft linen of his shirt. He was never going to let him go, he was drunk with the feeling of Draco bending himself to fit perfectly around Harry, the gentle tug of Draco’s fingers in his hair, the planes of his torso under Harry’s hand, the roundness of his shoulders… And his lips… They were as sweet as lassi, and Harry could drink greedily to his heart’s content.

They stumbled back into the room, and Harry was too distracted with trying to get his hands under Draco’s shirt to worry about such mundane things as to put one foot behind the other in a coordinated manner. They banged against the glass door and if it weren’t for Draco’s arms around him, he’d have ended up on his arse on the floor after tripping on the carpet. They fell half on and half off the bed, a tangled giggly mess of limbs and half-undone clothes, lips glistening with saliva and eyes alight with excitement.

“I thought you would be a lot smoother,” Harry teased, kicking off his own shoes.

“Shut up, I’m smooth enough,” Draco argued, drawing a quick arc with his wand and letting his shirt fall open and go fold itself on the bench at the foot of the bed.

“How can you be a neat freak after spending a decade living in tents?” Harry chuckled, wasting no time getting his hands on Draco’s newly exposed skin.

“A gentleman must retain _some_ good habits, Potter,” Draco argued, letting Harry straddle his lap, his hands immediately gravitating to his arse, easily in reach now, his wand forgotten on the orange bedcover.

“Oh, that’s how you’re going to play it?” Harry smiled down at him with a raised eyebrow. “What other gentlemanly habits have you retained, then, Malfoy?”

Draco hummed, tilting his head back like a cat when Harry ran his fingers through his hair, trying to mess with the curated perfection of its styling.

“I’ll have you know what distinguishes a proper gentleman is dedication to perfecting a craft,” he purred, jostling Harry a little as he blindly kicked off his boots.

He twisted quickly to tip Harry over on his back, more towards the middle of the bed. Harry let out a surprised _oomph_ and a chuckle when Draco stalked towards him like a big cat that spotted an unsuspecting prey. Harry was more than ready to let Draco satisfy the hunger burning behind his eyes.

“And what would that craft be, pray tell?” Harry asked, shifting backwards on his elbows until he felt the slope of pillows against his back.

“Patience, Potter,” Draco tutted, wrapping a hand around Harry’s ankle.

With a decisive pull, he dragged him back down so he could open his trousers and dispose of them in short order, sending them to join his shirt on the bench. Harry unbuttoned his kurta and wiggled out of it, dropping it straight to the floor in a pile.

Harry was glad he’d picked some plain black briefs. A lone thought was spared for the duckies-patterned boxers in the bottom of the backpack, back at the hotel. This would have been a very different scene; he couldn’t help but suspect Draco would be merciless in his teasing if he caught Harry wearing those. A giggle escaped Harry’s lips at the image.

Draco’s eyes snapped up from where they were roaming over the newly exposed skin.

“Something funny?” he asked, a hint of confusion on his face.

Harry pushed himself up, a wide smile never leaving his lips. “Yeah,” he replied, reaching for Draco’s belt, quickly unbuckling it. “You’re way overdressed.”

It was exhilarating to tilt his head back and see he could reach out and take everything he wanted, to see it written on Draco’s face that he only needed to ask, that the reverence Harry saw in his eyes wasn’t misplaced hero worship, it was something more stable, made of sturdier stuff. It was something Harry could lean on and trust it wouldn’t dissolve.

Draco ran a hand over Harry’s chest, resting on his tattoo, while the other gently cradled his jaw. Harry could get high on the feeling of his eyes on his lips, the gentlest press of a finger under his chin and Draco not kissing him yet.

“I have plans for you,” Draco whispered. His hot breath sent shivers down Harry’s back and he could already taste another kiss on his tongue.

“You thought about this a lot?” There was no teasing about it, Harry needed to know.

“You have no idea.” The desperate hunger in those four words sparked a fire low in Harry’s belly, making his cock twitch in his briefs.

A gentle push of Draco’s hand sent Harry flat on the bed, bouncing a little on the mattress. He stared, hypnotised by how Draco could manage to somehow still look graceful crawling out of his trousers and Banishing his thick socks somewhere on the floor.

He was perfect, kneeling above Harry, those black briefs looked painted on and the golden pattern on the elastic did nothing to dispel the illusion of a renaissance painting.

“I’m going to eat you out until you forget your name.”

Harry nodded slowly, too captivated by the perfect outline of an erection under the fabric of Draco’s underwear, and the curve of his arse that Harry was sure would fit under his palm like the missing piece of a puzzle.

Harry had wanted to kiss every unexpected and stupidly attractive freckle on Draco’s body, map all the scars, old and new, on his skin. But now that the thought of Draco’s tongue in his arse had been planted in his head, Harry couldn’t think of anything else.

Draco’s hands were strong and inquisitive when they ran down his sides and caught on the elastic of his briefs, tugging them down with a decisive move, leaving him completely bare under Draco’s burning gaze.

“Merlin, Harry…”

He could feel the weight of his eyes on his skin as Draco dragged them up, as if trying to consume every inch of Harry’s body.

“Flip over, you’ll be more comfortable.”

Harry didn’t need him to repeat it. He rolled over and shoved a pillow under his hips, hissing when his cock brushed against the cool silk case.

The press of Draco’s lips at the small of his back distracted Harry from the tingling of a deep Cleansing Spell, leaving him empty, fresh, and alight with the energy of Draco’s magic lingering in the air.

“Relax,” Draco purred.

Draco’s hands settled on Harry’s cheeks like a promise while he trailed lazy kisses down his back, counting every knob of his spine with his tongue until finally he pulled his cheeks apart and Harry could feel the air on his hole.

He was tense like a bowstring, anticipation crackling over his skin. The first touch of Draco’s tongue, a lazy lick up his crack, pushed a moan past his lips. He could feel his face heat as he hid it in the bedcovers, hoping to stifle all the gasps and whines Draco pulled out of him. He grabbed a fistful of sheets and arched his back to push against Draco’s face. His tongue was doing wicked things to his hole, it sent sparks up Harry’s spine every time Draco dug his fingers in his arse cheeks to get deeper, push the tip of his tongue past his rim. Harry bit his lip and tried to hold on for dear life when he felt more than he heard Draco moan against his arse, making Harry’s dick twitch in interest.

It was over way too quickly. Harry came embarrassingly fast; all it took was one long, slender finger sliding in his loose, relaxed hole to brush against his prostate, and it pushed him over the edge, coming with a strangled cry. Draco’s free hand immediately went to his dick to stroke him through it, gradually slowing down as he milked every last drop of pleasure from him, until Harry was left boneless and sated, sprawled on the bed.

“So, that’s what they mean when they say Slytherins are good with their tongues,” Harry eventually managed, rolling on his back, away from the wet spot.

“You have to use it for good sometimes. Can’t always be political scheming and manipulation of public opinion,” Draco replied casually with a half-smile, reaching for his wand and then hesitating when he realised both hands were covered in bodily fluids.

Harry made a vague gesture towards him and smiled when he felt the flow of magic through his fingers curling in the shape of a Cleaning Charm around Draco’s hands.

“Such a showoff,” he huffed, crawling up to lay down next to Harry.

Harry was still high on the best orgasm he had in recent memory, but the erection tenting Draco’s underwear was impossible to miss, and Harry wasn’t going to leave it be. He needed to get his hands on it, he needed to see Draco come undone under him.

He pushed himself up on an elbow and reached out hesitantly. The last curl of the phoenix’s tail curled over Draco’s hip, brushing right above the elastic band of his underwear.

“It’s not going to burn you.” Draco was smiling at him, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

“I wasn’t worried about me.”

“It’s not going to hurt me either,” he assured, reaching out for Harry’s hand and placing his palm over his hip bone, covering the red feathers. “It’s just a tattoo right now. Barely even magical.”

Harry trailed his fingers down the v of Draco’s hip and hooked them under the band, tugging it down carefully to reveal his cock, hard and wet at the tip, bobbing slightly when Harry freed it from the confining fabric.

He let Draco push the briefs down all the way and reveal himself, completely naked and just as comfortable with it as the first time he stripped in front of Harry. Under the warm sunlight, he was no less perfect than the sculptures decorating the foyer. He was a piece of art, splayed on Harry’s bed, offered up as a buffet for Harry to feast on. He wrapped a hand loosely around Draco’s cock and gave a slow tug, swiping his thumb over the head, spreading the pre-come around.

“Yes, Harry,” Draco moaned, “like that.”

Harry tore his eyes away from the entrancing sight of Draco’s pink cock disappearing in his fist, and looked up to see the way Draco’s blush travelled down to his neck. His pupils were blown wide with arousal and Harry’s hand stuttered when Draco’s eyes fluttered shut and he tilted his head back, baring his neck.

“Keep going,” he groaned.

Harry couldn’t resist the temptation and leaned in to bite at the soft skin of Draco’s neck, sucking until a mark bloomed under his lips, darker than the pink blush reaching his chest.

One of Draco’s hands wrapped around Harry’s, guiding him to stroke him at exactly the right speed. Harry turned to look at the way their fingers entwined around Draco’s cock. It didn’t escape him how Draco moaned at the scrape of Harry’s beard against his sensitive neck and he did it again to listen to that desperate little whine and feel the twitch of his cock in his hand.

“I want to see you come, Draco,” he purred, tightening his grip a little. “Are you going to come for me?”

“Yes.” It was only a syllable, punched out of him with every stroke of Harry’s hand.

“Spill all over yourself from just my hand?” Harry rubbed his chin up Draco’s neck to kiss his jaw.

“Y-es.”

“Let me see it, Draco, come for me,” he growled, dragging his teeth down Draco’s neck.

“Kiss me.”

Harry was only too happy to oblige the desperate plea with a messy wet kiss. It didn’t take more than a couple more strokes for Draco to spill over both of their hands, with a grunt that Harry greedily swallowed, pulling back only when he felt Draco’s cock start softening.

Harry dragged his hand up, through the nest of blond curls, to rest low on Draco’s belly as he placed a gentle kiss on his shoulder, listening to his breath gradually even out. The breeze from the window cooled down the sweat on their bodies and, as they lay together, sprawled naked on a massive bed with the afternoon sun making the warm tones that much more vivid, it sunk in how big Draco’s actions were.

“Tell me what you want, Draco,” Harry murmured, sending a spark of magic to clean their hands up.

Draco answered with a look of polite confusion.

“I can’t accept this without giving something back. You’ve gifted me a Manor.”

“It wasn’t mine to keep,” Draco pointed out.

“It wasn’t yours to buy and restore either, but you did. There must be something I can give you,” Harry couldn’t believe he had to argue about it.

Draco sighed and rolled on his side to look Harry in the eye. 

“Anything I want?”

Harry nodded, searching his eyes for some kind of trickery.

“I want everything, Harry. I want you and all you come with for as long as you live. I want you to never stop looking at me like you are right now, and I want to grow alongside you for the next hundred years.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Utkarsh Bagh = flourishing garden


	13. Chapter 13

**Ten years later**

Draco stepped out of the shower to find Harry still fidgeting with his clothes. He'd changed at least three times, judging by the array of clothes strewn over the bed.

Draco came up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“Relax,” he murmured, placing a kiss behind his ear. “They’re children, they won’t judge your fashion choices.”

“It’s my first day teaching, I want to look good,” Harry insisted.

Draco chuckled and gently nudged him until he turned around, away from the mirror.

“Come here, you’re not going to be the person who shows up late when they work at their own house.”

Draco fixed the collar of his kurta and neatly rolled up the sleeves, giving a neat crease to the cream-coloured garment and exposing the geometric tattoos snaking up his forearms. He trailed a finger down the clear path from the inside of his elbow to his wrist.

“Are you going like that?” Harry asked, eyeing the towel wrapped around Draco’s hips.

“Yeah, I thought my clothes were going to get messed up anyway so I might as well go without. You think Siddhima will mind?” Draco chuckled, picking a crimson scarf from the dresser to drape over Harry’s shoulders. He ran his fingers through Harry’s hair, reaching his shoulders in relaxed curls.

“I mind,” Harry pouted, reaching out to grab a handful of Draco’s arse before he danced away.

“A-ah, don’t get sidetracked. You have classes to hold,” Draco reminded him, heading to the closet to get dressed.

“So do you, aren’t you going to be late?”

“I’m just a guest lecturer,” Draco reminded him, walking back out in a simple ensemble of white linen and olive green suit.

“Still…”

“Healer Gupta is fully able to hold this class without me at this point, but enjoys indulging my ego, much like you.”

Harry smiled and handed over Draco’s shoes.

“Would you mind?” Draco asked, nodding towards the mirror as sat on the bed to tie up his shoes.

Harry traced an arc over the frame of the oval mirror with two of his fingers and the surface shimmered for a moment, moving like disturbed water. As soon as the waves settled Draco stood from the bed.

“Thank you.” He kissed Harry’s cheek and touched the surface of the mirror, letting his hand sink in. “Good luck, Guru Hari-ji.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If at some point during this fic you found yourself thinking “Hey, this reminds me of that scene in [All Our Secrets Laid Bare](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1227880/chapters/2516563)” by firethesound, first of all thank you, second of all it was done on purpose.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of HD Erised 2020; thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment below. ♥


End file.
